Legend Killer
by Belle Elegant
Summary: Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns join Randy Orton in hunting down the demon collective known as the Nexus. Meanwhile, Seth Rollins, pretending to work for Judge Hunter, has been assigned to help Marshal John Cena kill the Legend Killer. With death closing in from all sides, can Randy save his new apprentices from the demons and humans that want them dead?
1. Chapter 1

**Legend Killer**

_Author's Note: This is a direct continuation to Law Dogs. I recommend you start with that to avoid being confused. Also, there will be tons swearing and violence, because Dean, Roman and Randy._

_See the end of the fic for author's notes._

_**Helena, Montana Territory 1875**_

The territorial capital of Montana territory was moving from Virginia City to Helena soon. With the influx of people migrating to the young city, doubling its population every year, the energetic air gave the city a unique feel like it was vitally alive. Unlike other boom towns that sprang up like weeds, only to die down after a couple of years when the gold ran out, Helena already felt more...permanent.

At the end of a side street, rowdy noise spilled from the many saloons. One of the smaller saloons was filled to capacity with miners, ranch hands, and various other citizens looking for fun. The windows and doors were wide open, letting light spill into the darkening street and allowing the cool June air in. The piano player played a lively ditty on the battered out-of-tune piano. A drunk group of miners sang along with it, even more out of tune. The watered-down drinks were flowing freely, sometimes ending up on the dusty wooden floor. Cards and dice games were being played. It was payday and time to enjoy the fruits of their labors.

At a tiny corner table, former US Marshal now outlaw Randy Orton sat with his back to the wall and wrote notes on the piece of paper. He was taking a chance being out in public, with his face plastered all over wanted posters around town, but he had been going stir crazy in his cabin. Besides, there was a chance he might get lucky tonight and finally verify the identity of the last few members of Nexus, which he couldn't do while hiding out.

After nearly two months in Helena he thought he had identified the members of the Nexus collective. He had written down several names and descriptions, but two still had question marks. He had to be absolutely sure he had identified them all, or else Nexus would get away…again. That would be unacceptable. The challenge was that in a city of several thousand people it was hard to get a good look at any demons who may be laying low. And without the Saint's direct presence it was especially tricky, but Randy had mastered the art of identifying demons without the Saint of Killer's unwelcome presence.

Looking at the names of the people on his list he did know for sure were Nexus, the situation was bad. Nexus had already infiltrated the local government, including the sheriff. This needed to end quickly.

He couldn't help his scowl as he felt the Saint of Killer's presence. "What the fuck do you want, old man?" he growled in a low voice that didn't disguise his irritation. He really wasn't worried about being overheard with the chaos and noise in the rowdy saloon, but he hadn't make it this far by being careless. "If you're here about Nexus, I'm still making sure that I found them all, so go away."

"_Not here about Nexus, son. My latest recruits are coming in,"_ the Saint said. He gave Randy a brief rundown of the events the new guys had survived. _"There they are," _the Saint said._"Teach them how to survive."_

Randy looked up and saw two men walking through the door and looking around. "What makes you think they will listen to me any more than Swagger did?" the outlaw asked, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. Still a young man, he had spent too much time being a teacher only to watch his students being slaughtered. The horrific deaths of Ted and Cody still ached like a festering gutshot. Jack's end was almost as bad after Hunter got his hands on him.

"_For one thing, they are smart enough to know they are in over their heads," _the Saint replied. _"Two, these two have a background that will come in handy. They have worked together for a while and trust each other. And as much as you want to deny it, you need help son. You know you can't take on Nexus alone."_

He hated it when he couldn't argue with the Saint. Not with what he knew about what the Nexus was doing. "Fine," Randy growled. "If that's all, go away." He didn't see the regret that crossed the Saint of Killer's face as he looked at him. Their relationship had started off rocky and gone straight to hell ever since. The only time Randy called on the Saint was for demon-disposal. Otherwise he wanted nothing to do with him. And he made that very clear.

The Saint of Killers shook his head and vanished back to wherever the hell he went to when he wasn't bothering Randy.

Both of the new guys were about Randy's height, give or take a few inches. One had long dark hair and a dangerous air that made most people in his vicinity edge away nervously. The other was a sandy blond, also scowling, but he mostly just looked deranged. They both had the unmistakable look of having been on the trail for a while. Eyes narrowing, Randy leaned back in his chair. He saw the blond scanning the room and waited until they locked eyes before jerking his chin up in a silent invitation/order to come over. Blondie nudged his partner's arm and they threaded their way through the drunken throng and, snagging a couple of chairs, they sat down at Randy's table. Blondie rode his chair backwards.

"So you are the Saint's newest recruits," Randy said. "You got names or am I going to have to give you ones?"

"Dean Ambrose," Blondie said. He was cocky one, Randy thought, although he might have just been insane. Randy made a mental note to not turn his back to him. Dean had a large healing scar on the side of his head. It looked like someone had tried to blow his head off recently, and damned near succeeded. The guy was still a bit pale, and he looked like he needed at least three good meals and a week's worth of sleep.

"Roman Reigns," said Roman. "And I take it you are…"

Randy interrupted him. "It's best if my name isn't spoken where people can hear it. Hearing it makes them act like idiots." He looked down at the piece of paper and folded it up and put it away in his pocket. He wasn't going to get anything else done tonight, so he might was well get to know his new students. Leaning forward on his elbows and keeping his voice low he asked, "So, Dean, Roman what were you before?" Before whatever had almost killed them before the Saint of Killer's stepped in. But he didn't ask that out loud.

Roman mimicked Randy and leaned in close. He at least, seemed to have some sense of self-preservation. That was good. "Deputy Marshals," he said.

Randy's eyebrows climbed and he sat back and cursed quietly. "Fuck. Oh, god. Hunter's going to love this," he said.

"He thinks we're dead," Dean said with a challenging stare. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Orton, even to look around the saloon. Orton ignored that. If Ambrose thought Randy could be intimidated by a nutbag staring at him, well, he would soon learn otherwise. Randy had brought in Mick Foley back when he was still a US Marshal.

Still, getting Hunter to believe they were dead was impressive foresight. "How'd you manage that?" Randy asked.

Despite the dark circles under his eyes, Roman smirked, "We have a friend who's telling Hunter of our demise right now. He will also let us know what Hunter is planning next."

Randy almost smiled. They were better and more prepared than he could have hoped for. He nodded to himself, "That's good," The two of them not being pursued by Hunter was one less thing to worry about. It was bad enough that Hunter was out for Randy's blood. "So you know the basics in tracking and gunfighting. And you know law enforcement techniques and how to avoid them, because believe me, they will eventually be on your trail. But you have no idea how to identify and take down demons. That's what I am going to teach you how to do without getting yourselves and everyone around you killed." He was getting an uneasy feeling that he had been out in the open too long but there was nothing concrete, yet.

Dean snorted, the arrogant jackass. "Both Roman and I have already killed demons," he said. Then he involuntarily flinched back as Randy fixed him with a dead-eyed stare, his blue eyes flat.

"You killed _one_ each. AND there were no civilians around to get in the way, and the demons didn't know about you. You got lucky," Randy snapped. "That's not always going to be the case. For example, Nexus is a collective that knows about the Saint of Killers and about us. They are on their guard. How would you handle it?" he asked.

Roman frowned. "Pick them off one by one," he ventured.

"Nope," Randy said. "What we do is identify exactly how many there are, who they are and where they hide. Because when we kill one, rest will go to ground. If any get away, we start back at square one and I am tired of dealing with this shit." Abruptly, he glanced around the room. His instincts were ticking over that something was coming. The jovial air in the room was beginning to take on an almost frenetic feel and Randy's hackles began to rise. It was time to bail.

"We need to get out of here," he said, keeping his voice low. He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood up. Dean and Roman did the same, looking a bit confused but taking their lead from Randy. "You guys got horses outside?"

They exchanged glances and nodded. Randy could tell these two had been riding together for a while and were able to communicate without speaking. Thankfully, Dean and Roman didn't ask questions, they just followed Randy through the crowd of people, but as Dean brushed past a smallish man with a large chip on his shoulder, the man turned and shoved him forcefully, causing Dean to fall back into a not-so-friendly game of poker. "Hey! Watch it," one of them shouted. The poker men were on their feet, dragging Dean up by his shirt collar and getting ready to beat the shit out him when Roman grabbed one of them, spun him around and hauled back to sock him in the face. However, Randy intercepted Roman's fist with his hand. The piano stopped playing and the singers stopped singing. There was a tense silence in the saloon as everyone waited to see if the guns would come out. Roman and Randy stared at each other for a few seconds, Randy shook his head and Roman backed off.

Randy let his fist go and turned and spoke to the poker players, "Gentlemen, I apologize for my friend. It was an accident. He was pushed into your table. I'm sure we can solve this situation without bloodshed." He was met with a skeptical stare from the poker players, so he smiled. It was more of a weapon than a reassurance however and the poker players looked a bit nervous. "Tell you what, lets forget about this and let me buy you a round of drinks." They looked a bit surly, still wanting to brawl, but Randy was projecting an unmistakable sense of danger that they were reluctant to tangle with. And besides, he offered them free alcohol. They looked at each other and nodded and let Dean go. Randy threw the barkeeper a silver coin who nodded, grateful that there was no imminent property damage.

Randy jerked his head at Roman, signaling him to get Dean out of there before the situation blew up again. As Roman took hold of Dean's shoulder and guided him to the exit, Randy took one last long look around the room. He didn't see any Nexus members yet, which was good. But by the surly mood of the crowd, it was coming closer. Then he turned and started to follow Roman and Dean, only to freeze dead when someone exclaimed, "Oh my gawd! You're on that wanted poster!" If someone had dropped a pin, it could have easily been heard. Randy didn't move a muscle except to close his eyes in frustration.

Shit.

One man was reacting more strongly to the demons' vicinity than the others. Too bad for him that Randy didn't particularly care if it really wasn't his fault. Roman and Dean were staring at him and he shook his head slightly, indicating that they leave him to deal with the situation. Three men, none of which were the poker players, had pulled their guns and pointed them directly at Randy. Everyone else got out of the way, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

It was the small man who pushed Dean and started this whole stupid scenario. "Take out your guns, mister and hand them to Mike there," he gestured at the two Smith and Wesson Model Threes that Randy was wearing.

Randy narrowed his eyes and the muscle in his jaw jumped. The small man went a bit pale, but held his ground. "You heard me mister, ease those guns out, butt first," he insisted.

Randy's eyes were hard as diamonds and he never took them off the small man. With painful slowness, he pulled the Smith and Wesson's out of their holsters, butt first as instructed and extended them towards Mike. No one noticed that his index fingers were in the trigger guards of each gun.

Mike stepped forward and reached for the proffered handles. His fingers were just about brushing the tips when the guns spun on Randy's fingers with a slight twist of his wrists. With the speed of a rattlesnake strike, the guns were reversed, barrels pointed at the small man and Mike, but they never saw it. He shot the small man first, the top of his head exploding in a splatter of bone and brains. Before the other two could react, the two Smith and Wesson's boomed simultaneously, and their chests caved in, crimson. There were screams of panic, but no one moved, not wanting to test Randy's amazing reflexes any further.

"You obviously can't read. There's a reason the wanted posters say do not attempt to disarm," Randy snarled at the small man's corpse. He looked around at the silent saloon and asked, "Anyone else feeling lucky tonight?"

No one moved. He huffed a sigh and warned, "Do not try to follow me." He stuffed the guns back into his holsters and stepped backward through the door. Jumping lightly down off the boardwalk and to the hitching post, he untied his big roan and mounted up. Roman and Dean, their eyes wide, grabbed their mounts and followed as Randy kicked his horse into a canter and headed to the edge of town. He didn't slow down until the saloon lights had fallen far behind. Randy was quietly swearing at himself for being stupid. He should have known better than to admit he was on the poster. His temper had gotten the better of him. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Where did you learn to do that?" Dean demanded, breaking him out of the self-flagellation he had been wallowing in.

"What?" Randy asked absently, still a bit distracted. It was obvious that man had recognized him from the picture, but maybe Randy had been right about his lack of reading ability. He hadn't named Randy himself, just mentioned the poster. Maybe they had actually gotten lucky and the news wouldn't get out that Randy was in Helena. Randy snorted to himself, no, there was no way he would ever get that lucky. He now had a deadline to work under as well. _Ah, Randy_, he thought to himself, _you wouldn't know what to do if even one thing went your way._

"The thing with the guns! How did you do that?" Dean asked again, his eyes fever bright. He had never seen such a sneaky move.

"I rode with the Missouri volunteers during the war," Randy said. "Its called a border roll." He didn't tell them he had only been a teenager when he learned that particular trick.

"Oh god, you have to teach that to me," Dean practically begged.

"Sure, but it only works on idiots." Randy explained. "A smart lawman insist that you drop the gun belt, or just drop the guns, so the border roll won't work. But sometimes you get lucky," he shrugged, mentally working on a list of things he needed to teach Dean and Roman. They were nearing the edge of town and the population was becoming sparse. Pulling his roan down to a halt he looked around carefully, making sure they weren't followed. Roman and Dean also stopped and waited, each of them taking a look around as well.

"Why did we leave?" Roman asked. It was obvious that the dark-haired man had a lot going on upstairs.

Nodding in approval at Roman's question, "The Nexus was near," Randy said. He also noticed the way Roman slumped in the saddle. It was obvious the man was hurt more than he let on. The horses breathed loudly in the still night air.

"So why didn't we just call up Mark and take care of them?" Roman wanted to know.

"Who the fuck is Mark?" Randy asked, baffled.

"The Saint of Killers," Roman told him, giving him a strange look, like Randy should have known that.

Randy shook his head. He hadn't known the Saint had a first name. He filed that information away to address later. "I need to be absolutely sure I have identified all of them," Randy said. "Still need to check a few things before we kick this particular anthill over."

"How the hell did you know they were nearby?" Dean asked, forcibly pulling his mind from the elegant beauty of the border roll. He was actively resisting the temptation to pull out his own gun and try to do it.

Satisfied that they were being unobserved, Randy turned his roan and headed up slope of the nearby mountain. Dean and Roman followed. "Humans, even though they can't see demons like we can, will react to their presence. One big tell is that a crowd's mood started to shift," Randy explained. "With practice, you will be able to sense when one comes close. And that may be enough to save your life." He turned off on a hidden trail, relying on the horse to know the way and not let them go tumbling over the steep side. He had a small cabin hidden nearby, and he needed to get his new students fed and rested.

They had work to do and the now the clock was ticking down before Hunter extended his reach and tried to remove Randy from the land of the living again.

_Notes:_

_So here we go with Legend Killer. As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization. ~ Belle _

_The Border Roll, (or Road Agent's spin) is an actual gunslinger maneuver. If you want to learn how it is executed, you can see it demonstrated on YouTube. And you can see Clint Eastwood do it in the movie The Outlaw Josey Wales. Fun fact: Clint Eastwood's guns in that movie are Colt Walkers._

_Randy's Smith and Wesson's Model 3's are the same model of guns were used by Wyatt Earp at the Shootout at the OK Corral._

_The Saint of Killers is (very loosely) based off the character in the Preacher graphic novel series by Garth Ennis. But my version's personality is very, very different. And if you are easily offended/horrified, you might want to steer clear of Preacher._


	2. Chapter 2

**Legend Killer**

_**Virginia City, Montana Territory 1875**_

Virginia City, the current capital of the Montana territory, was already in the initial stages of decline as the gold played out and the more transient part of the population started to move on. The capital itself was moving to Helena soon, mostly due to the incredibly large gold deposits found there. Barely ten years old, Helena had more millionaires per capita than any other city on earth. But there were still plenty of people in Virginia City, making the narrow streets crowded and difficult to get around.

Smog billowing from the smelters hung in a haze above the town, obscuring the surrounding mountain tops. The acrid smell pervaded throughout home and business, competing with the smell of unwashed bodies, horses, and muck. The growl of the massive grinders, crushing the ore to powder throbbed day and night. In his office in the courthouse, after Judge Hunter introduced Seth to John Cena, he motioned for John to sit and asked Seth to shut the door, muffling the outside sounds.

After he did as he was asked, Seth leaned against the side wall where he could observe both men, doing his best to become invisible.

"Thank you for coming all the way out here, John. How was the trip?" Hunter asked politely.

Seth could tell Hunter didn't really care how the trip was. "It was fine, sir," John replied, he too seemed to pick up on Hunter's lack of interest. He didn't go into details. "I've never been west of Philadelphia."

Hunter appreciated John's unwillingness for small-talk. "Ok then, let's cut to the chase. Vince sent you to me because I asked for his best." He paused long enough to pour some bourbon and offer John some, but John just shook his head. Hunter shrugged and took a sip. He put the shot glass down and considered it. To Seth he looked worried, the lines in his forehead cut deep as Hunter thought about his words. "As I said earlier, I am sending you after former US Marshal Randal Keith Orton," he said. "He was _my_ best. Randy was one of the youngest Marshals I have ever worked with, but he was good, damned good. I hand-picked him to be my successor." Hunter shook his head, smiling briefly at memories that only he could see. But the smile dropped off before being fully realized and Hunter exhaled. He sat up straight and became more detached.

"Things you need to know about Randy Orton: most important is _he is smart_. He thinks in ways different from anyone else I have met. He is unpredictable. Just when you think you have him pinned down or on the run, he will turn and strike without warning. He is also very good at pissing people off because he's an arrogant bastard. Unfortunately his arrogance is justified because he can back up anything he says. He is a natural with guns. He can hit about any target he has in his sights. Rifle, revolver, shotgun, it doesn't matter. He is good with them all. And he is _fast_. I cannot stress this enough: _you cannot outdraw him_." Hunter's eyes bored into Cena's. John nodded to indicate he was listening, but didn't say anything. "In short, he is the most dangerous person you will ever encounter. Do you have any questions?"

"So what happened? Why did he turn?" John asked.

Mentally straightening up, Seth was glad John asked that question. He had never heard Hunter's version of the story.

Grimacing, Hunter shook his head. His gaze fixed itself in the middle area between the past and present. "I think in the end it was my fault. It was easy to forget how young he was and I pushed him too hard. I should have left him a Deputy for a while longer." Hunter ruminated for a minute. "It was soon after he was promoted to Marshal and he was assigned two deputies of his own to work with. And he was good at that too. Even though Randy was a complete asshole those two boys worshiped the ground he walked on." Hunter took another sip of his drink. Muffled noises drifted through the closed door, as well as through the window from the street below. "Anyway, it was just supposed to be an escort job. Chris Benoit and his gang had been apprehended by Marshals Dave Batista and Ric Flair so I sent Randy and his two deputies Ted Debiasi and Cody Rhodes with the prison wagon to bring them back for trial and hanging."

Seth was watching Hunter's face closely. He knew that Hunter was choosing his words very carefully.

Tapping the empty shot glass on the desk, Hunter went on. "Ric and Dave handed them off to Randy and his boys up near Fort Benton. When the boys didn't make it back to Virginia City, I sent out scouts and they found the wagon had been ambushed. All the prisoners and deputies were dead. The only one still alive was Randy, but he had been gutshot."

All the men in the room winced. Being gutshot was a death sentence. A very long, agonizing death sentence.

"The scouts got him back to Mark Calaway, the local sawbones here, and damned if the kid didn't pull through, though it was touch and go for a while. Randy got back on his feet and everything seemed to be fine. But," again Hunter paused, considering his words. "He was never the same afterward. I think he blamed himself for the deaths of those kids. After a month or so, he started acting real strange, talking to himself. We kept an eye on him, but not close enough because he disappeared one night. We looked for him but couldn't find him. It wasn't until later we learned that he murdered a citizen in the next town over."

He was telling the truth, Seth decided, but leaving out a crucial section of the story. Was it because he didn't know the truth?

Or because he did?

"I sent out a posse to bring him in, headed by my old friend Ric Flair. Ric had mentored Randy for a while and I had hoped he could talk the kid into giving himself up." Hunter scowled, rage making his voice shake slightly. "Orton killed the entire posse and disappeared. Vanished into thin air. About a year later, he surfaced long enough to kill a miner in Bannack, and then disappeared again. That's his _Modus operandi_: he appears from out of nowhere, commits murder, then ghosts. He doesn't leave a trail and there is no pattern to his crimes. If we could figure out why he is killing random people, we might be able to stop him."

He was good, Seth decided. Everything Hunter was saying to Cena was plausible. John himself was just listening so far, occasionally nodding but patiently waiting for Hunter to finish.

"And the bastard has the advantage because he knows me and he knows anyone I would send after him. Which is why I sent for you, Cena. He doesn't know you and for that reason alone you might be able to stop him." Hunter frowned hard. His eyes fixed on John's. "The last one was the worst. Orton murdered nine people up in Garnet, a small mining town west of Helena. Witnesses say he was ruthless as he hunted those people down. Three of them were women, two were children."

Stomach knotting, Seth could see any thought of mercy John Cena might have had for Randy Orton going right out the window. He watched Hunter nodding at John, looking satisfied.

Bastard.

"Any idea where I should start?" John asked, his voice tight.

"There was a spot of trouble in a saloon up in Helena a few night ago. There is a possibility that Orton was involved. I don't know for sure if the information will pan out, but its a place to start. The local sheriff's name is Wade Barrett. You and Rollins will be working with him. And remember, don't even try to interact with Randy Orton. Just kill him on sight." Hunter glanced at Seth, then back to John. "Any other questions?"

"No, sir," John said, his eyes hard, and stood up. He extended his hand to Hunter who accepted it and they shook. "Good luck, Cena." Hunter said, he turned to Seth, "Help Marshal Cena get outfitted. You need to leave before the trail gets cold," he ordered.

Seth nodded to Hunter, inwardly seething with frustration. He could see how well Hunter played Cena, but he still couldn't figure out if Hunter knew about demons or not. Hunter had said nothing that would tip his hand. Cena followed him out of the building, not speaking.

"How well do you ride John?" Seth asked. He wasn't trying to offend Cena, rather he was just getting a feel for what a pampered east coast US Marshal might be used to.

Cena, to his credit, wasn't offended by the question. "Pretty well," he said. "Spent a good amount of time in the saddle on my father's estate growing up. A horse would be much better than a stagecoach. I have no desire to ride in one again anytime soon." He grimaced.

Seth grinned and glanced up at the position of the sun. There wasn't enough daylight left to get anywhere before dark, he decided. "Ok, you get over to the boarding house and grab a room for yourself. I'll get the supplies and see to the horses. We'll set out at first light."

John had offered to help, but Seth declined. He had someone he needed to talk to.

A little while later, after Seth had finished at the livery and the general store, he walked over to the undertaker/doctor's office. The sun was set, but the glow on the western horizon was still bright.

The man wasn't busy with any patients and nodded a greeting. "Seth," he rumbled, "Didn't know you guys were back. How did it go?" "We took the Wyatts down," Seth answered a bit evasively.

"Dean and Roman still out in the field?" Mark asked, seeing Seth was alone.

"No. We ran into some bad trouble. They didn't make it back," Seth said. For some reason, it was impossible to outright lie to Mark. While Seth himself wasn't as close to Mark as Roman and Dean were, mostly because he wasn't injured as often, he knew Roman considered the undertaker a friend.

That remark earned him a scalpel-sharp look. But Mark didn't ask the next logical question of 'what happened?'. Instead he said, "You're implying that they're dead, but not saying it in so many words."

That made Seth freeze briefly. The man was far too perceptive. Now it was Seth's turn to choose his words very carefully. "That is what I implied," he admitted. "Hunter didn't question it." He hoped that Mark would pick up on that hint. If Hunter found out, all three of them were dead for real.

Looking at him with those pale green eyes, Mark seemed to be reading his thoughts and Seth couldn't help but shiver. "Its none of my business," the big man said. Seth breathed a sigh of relief. He watched silently as Mark began to sort through some herbs. "So what brings you here then? Are you injured?" Mark look at him up and down, spotting the bandage on his upper arm where Glenn's bullet had caught him several days ago. The wound was healing nicely.

Seth shook his head. "No, its fine. I'm here because Hunter brought in an east coast Marshal to hunt down Randy Orton and I've been ordered to help him."

Mark's face went neutral. "What does that have to do with me?" he asked, not quite so friendly.

Seeing that reaction, Seth immediately knew that Mark was hiding something. "You treated Randy when he got shot, before he went crazy," Seth said. "Did he say anything to you about what happened?"

"Like I told Hunter, the kid was out of his head with fever, and I didn't pay attention to what he was saying." Mark's voice held a hint of warning to not question him. "I'm not sure how his ramblings would help you track him down after all this time."

That was a good evasion, Seth thought. If Randy had been talking about demons, it could be plausibly dismissed as feverish ravings. Was Mark protecting Randy, or himself? Or both? But if Mark knew anything, Seth needed to find out. He walked over to the window to stare out at the street, watching people walk by as he cast about for a way to broach a topic that, up until a few days ago he would have thought completely insane.

Mark finally spoke again. "What do you really want, Rollins?" Any friendliness Mark had shown Seth was disappearing more and more with each question.

Seth decided to just bite the bullet. "Mark, what if I told you that Randy wasn't raving? That demons exist and they are among us?" he asked as he turned around in time to see Mark freeze, then resume his sorting.

There was a long stretch of silence. Finally Mark asked, "How do you know?" 

_Dean and Roman trust this man_, Seth thought. "Bray Wyatt was one," he said, blunt. "So was Glenn."

Mark stopped what he was doing and looked at Seth again, only this time Seth felt his mouth go dry under the intensity of that gaze. But when Mark spoke, it was with the same tone of voice he would have used to speak about the weather. "You think Orton and his men were ambushed by demons?" he asked.

"I don't know," Seth answered honestly. "But I think there's a good chance that every person whom Orton has murdered since then is a demon. And now Dean and Roman are caught up in it too."

"That's where they are? With Orton?" The man was very, very perceptive. Seth was starting to feel a bit out of his depth.

"Yes. They are hunting a group of demons called Nexus up in Helena," Seth said. Feeling like he was back in school, Seth tried hard not to fidget under Mark's gaze.

"So why are you here and not in Helena helping them?" Mark asked. "Aren't you guys supposed to be partners?"

This was where things got a bit complicated. "Judge Hunter has been sending out us US Marshals to kill certain men. What we didn't know was these particular men were the only ones who can see and kill demons. But with the Wyatts it was different. He set us up to be their last sacrifice. We were able to stop them, but now I am trying to find out if Hunter knew that the Wyatts were demons and if he did, why is he helping them," Seth said. He could see Mark thinking over what he had been told.

"That's why you are still wearing your shield," Mark observed. "To get close to Hunter. What do you plan to do?" Mark asked.

Seth searched for the words he needed to express his train of thought. "Cena coming here has put my investigation on hold because right now I need to stop Cena from killing Orton and finding out about Dean and Roman. If word about them gets back to Hunter, he will have them hanged for desertion."

"You're not wrong about him hanging Dean and Roman," Mark said, sighing. Seth got the impression he genuinely like Dean and Roman and wanted to help them. "What do you want from me?"

"What makes you think I want anything from you?" Seth asked, trying to appear innocent.

Mark snorted amused. "That act won't work on me, boy. You want me to watch Hunter while you're off saving the world?"

"Will you?" Seth asked, hopeful, trying not to sound pathetically grateful. He desperately needed an ally.

"Rollins, I always keep a close eye on that man," Mark assured him. "Are you going to tell any of this to Cena?"

"I don't think he will believe me," Seth admitted. "I had a hard time believing it myself until I came face to face with Bray Wyatt."

"Say you do tell him, and he doesn't believe you, what then?"

"I still have to stop him from killing Orton, even if that means that I have to kill him," Seth said. Saying it out loud suddenly made it all seem real and he went pale at the thought of killing an innocent man, even if it was for the best of reasons. He bit his lip against the wave of uncertainty that washed through him. "Does killing an innocent person make me a bad man?"

"Yes," Mark said, blunt as always. Seeing Seth's stricken expression, Mark shook his head and sighed. He walked over to Seth and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Seth, you will find the world needs bad men; they keep other bad things from the door."

Swallowing, Seth nodded. It wasn't reassuring but it was something he could hold on to.

Starting out first light, the horses' breath steaming in the chilly air, Seth and John mounted up and heading north out of Virginia City at a ground-eating canter. The trip to Helena would take a little over two days. Seth was riding his usual paint gelding, and John seemed to like the big bay mare Seth had picked out for him. They didn't speak much at first. John was trying to get used riding at the pace set by Seth and Seth himself was caught up in his own thoughts. But the road was smooth and soon the scenery, beautiful as it was, became a bit monotonous so John pulled abreast of Seth and started asking questions about life in the West and Seth's experiences in law enforcement. Seth avoided going into too much detail about his last assignment, and when John found about that disaster, he tactfully changed the subject to his own life story.

Born in West Newbury Massachusetts, his father had sent him overseas before and during the War. Afterward, he had come back and had been living in Washington DC while serving the Supreme Court when the telegraph came through from Judge Hunter Helmsley. He had made the long trip from Washington DC initially by train, then by steamboat up the Missouri, then finally by stagecoach. He was grateful to to not be riding north in a cramped stagecoach. The constant rocking and jolting made him feel a bit nauseous, he confided to Seth.

It turned out that John didn't know the contents of the telegraph that triggered his trip out west, only that Supreme Court Justice Vince McMahon looked worried, and furious. Vince had immediately ordered John to travel more than 2,000 miles to aid his son-in-law, only saying that Judge Hunter would explain when he arrived in Montana territory.

It was hard not to like the man, Seth decided. John was decent, honest and had a sense of humor. But all Seth could think about was at the end of this trail he would have to stop Cena from killing Orton in any way necessary.

In the eyes of the world, Randy Orton was a remorseless killer. But to Seth, who knew the truth, Randy along with Dean and Roman, was the only hope the world had against the demons. And if worse came to worst, and Roman and Dean were there with Randy when Cena and Orton threw down? Seth needed to make plans to ensure they weren't caught in the crossfire.

They stopped at a river to stretch their legs and let the horses drink. It had been a while since John had ridden a horse for a long stretch, and his legs and back were starting to get a bit sore. In an effort to ease up the stiffness, he walked around. He noticed an outcropping of granite and wandered over to check it out. The sun was high in the cloudless sky and warmed the rocks. He was watching an eagle soar high above him when he became aware of a buzzing sound nearby. It was loud and it took a few seconds for John to understand it was meant. His eyes widened at the sight of large rattlesnake that had been sunning itself next to the rocks. With a startled yell John reached for his revolver.

Seth, hearing John's shout, called over to him, "What is it?"

"A rattlesnake," John called back. Seth dropped the reins of the horses when he saw John pull his gun and jogged over.

"Don't shoot it!" Seth ordered.

John looked over at Seth as if he was crazy. "Its a rattlesnake!" he said, as if Seth didn't hear him the first time.

Seth was reminded of Dean for a second but put it out of his mind. "You said that already," he scowled. "Seriously, why do people like to kill snakes?"

"Because its going to bite me?" John offered. "Look at it, shaking its rattles over there. The thing is just asking to die." His Boston accent was pronounced in his stress.

"I know you don't have rattlesnakes out east, so you don't know about them." Trying not to roll his eyes, Seth shook his head. "Just calm down. He's warning you not to get too close because he doesn't want to get stepped on. He's hunting vermin and he doesn't want to waste his venom on you anymore than you want to get bit."

John eyed the viper with suspicion but backed away. Soon, the snake unfolded itself and disappeared into the grass. "You know your snakes, Rollins," he said, with a rueful grin. What Seth had said was true. He didn't know much about the west yet. And he got the uneasy feeling there was so much more he desperately needed to know.

"No, I just think we shouldn't be killing things that are actually doing good in this world," Seth replied. "No matter how scary they might be."

They made it to Helena late the next day.

_Notes__:_

_As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization. ~ Belle_

_According to Wild West Tech's "Grim Reaper," most undertakers were doctors doing double duty, which was why I feel I am able to get away with Mark being a doctor and (of course) an Undertaker. _

_Mark's comment about the world needing bad men is a reflection of the dialogue between Rust and Marty in True Detective. "the world needs bad men; we keep the other bad men from the door" which is a theme of this fic. Let's face it, these men are killers, but they are the only ones that can save the world._

_Rattlesnakes, a member of the viper family, rarely bite people unless they are provoked. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Legend Killer**

The first thing that Randy did when they arrived at his small cabin high up in the hills was to build up a fire and get some water boiling in a pot. Lighting a lantern, he looked at Dean. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to a crude wooden bench.

Dean looked at him suspiciously. "Why?" he asked.

"Because that needs to be looked at," he indicated Dean's head wound. "Now sit down and shut up."

Dean, in a testament to how tired and sore he really was, did as he was told. He muttered rebelliously though, not enjoying Randy's bossiness, but Randy ignored him. He hung the lantern over Dean's head then proceeded to inspect Dean's Rowan-inflicted wound. He dabbed at it with a damp cloth with surprising gentleness, dipping it in the hot water to soften the scabs and clean out the grime. It started to bleed again.

"Stop that," he said when Dean started to squirm. "It needs to bleed to get the dirt out. If that gets infected, you are useless to me." He was starting on Dean's arm when he glanced over at Roman, who looked like he was starting to droop with exhaustion. "Reigns, there are some biscuits and jerky in my saddle bags. Get some and eat. And give some to Ambrose." As usual Randy didn't ask, he ordered.

After Dean's head and arm were patched up to Randy's satisfaction, it was Roman's turn. Like Dean, Roman opened his mouth to say he was fine, but Randy wasn't taking arguments. "Your strength is important and I'm not going to trust my back to a couple of guys that could keel over at any moment due to untreated wounds." Roman obviously didn't like that but he was too tired to care.

After he was done making sure they weren't dying right then, Randy told them to get some sleep while he took care of the horses. As the two settled down and quickly fell asleep, Randy took the opportunity to be alone and think. The night was dark, with no moon. The river of stars streamed across the sky and the air was cool. It felt good. Nearby, one of the horses snorted.

He realized he was gritting his teeth in tension and tried to relax. There was absolutely no resemblance between Roman and Dean with Ted and Cody. None. The guys were exactly opposite in everything from temperament to looks. Ted and Cody were fresh-faced and eager to learn. They were fun, never taking anything too seriously, no matter how stressful the job got. But that didn't mean they weren't any good at what they did. No, they had potential to be very, very good and Randy was proud to be their mentor, even if he gave them a hard time. They had made Randy laugh for the first time since the War. When they were around, Randy felt the rage he had carried since watching his family slaughtered loosen its hold on him. They had been his first real friends.

And now he got to watch them die again and again every night in his nightmares. Randy vowed that he would never let anyone get that close to him again. Even Edge he considered only an acquaintance.

In contrast, Roman and Dean were hard and hostile. It was obvious they trusted only each other. And that was fine as far as Randy was concerned. He didn't need anybody, he reminded himself. With what he did for a living, caring about people was a liability. But despite his vow, Randy felt a sort of reluctant kinship with Roman and Dean already. He figured it was because they too had been in the Marshal service and had gone through exactly what he did. That made them brothers, of a sort. And he recognized the same protective instinct for Roman and Dean as he did with Ted and Cody. Ruthlessly he squashed the feeling.

He exhaled, annoyed at himself. He couldn't afford to get emotionally involved. This whole Nexus situation was very dangerous and if he wasn't at his very best, none of them would make it out alive. His lips twisted into a smirk. Good thing he was at his best when the stakes were at their highest.

The next morning, Roman joined Randy outside as he was watering the horses. Roman nodded at Randy but didn't talk. Randy appreciated that. He had gotten up early and cooked some bacon and eggs and left them out for the boys, along with more biscuits and coffee. The air was crisp and still. A few high wisps of clouds broke the blue of the sky. Randy looked at Roman critically as he rubbed his horse's black forelock. The younger man looked amazingly better after a good night's sleep and breakfast. Dean's sorrel wandered over to see if there were any treats.

Randy inspected his big roan's shoes, making sure none were loose. They were now just waiting for Dean to get up and eat.

Finally, Dean emerged from the cabin, his hair sticking up in all directions and a cup of coffee in his hand. He stretched and walked over to Roman and Randy, sipping the hot liquid. He scowled and moved his coffee protectively out of reach from his horse who stretched its neck out to sniff at it.

Seeing that Dean was awake, Randy decided it was time to get Roman and Dean acquainted with the Nexus. "Alright boys, are you're ready to get started or do you need more time?"

The two of them looked at Randy, but didn't say anything. Randy took that as a 'yes, Randy, please get started'.

"As you know, the Nexus is who we're after," Randy said, pulling out his piece of paper and a stub of a pencil from his jacket pocket. "There are six targets: Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater, maybe David Otunga, I'm not entirely sure if he is Nexus, I haven't gotten close enough to him to find out, same with Husky Harris. There is also Michael McGillicutty, and last but not least, Sheriff Wade Barrett."

"Wait, we're going to kill the sheriff?" Roman wasn't sure he heard Randy right. Dean raised his eyebrows but didn't comment as he took another sip of coffee. His horse bumped his nose against Dean's shoulder, almost causing him to spill his coffee down the front of his shirt. He scowled again and shove the horse's face away from him. The sorrel, not taking him seriously, stuck his nose back in Dean's ear, his whiskers tickling.

Randy gave Roman a level look, but answered the question. "Yes, the sheriff is a member of the Nexus and I'm pretty sure he's the one that got away last time."

As Dean finished his coffee, he was starting to feel the effects of the caffeine in his system. That made him fidget but Randy ignored him as he listed out the physical descriptions of each Nexus member. "Of course I will make sure you two know exactly who your targets are when we are ready to take them down. We need to go into town at some point and get you two some clothes with less bullet holes in them, and you need a room. This place here is only to be used in emergencies. _You shoot me or one of the horses and there will be an issue_," he growled at Dean, who had pulled out his loaded gun and started to slowly try to work through the motions of the Border Roll. Giving Randy an innocent look, Dean continued to try to spin his revolver like Randy did the night before.

"Where's Mark?" Dean asked as he concentrated on his revolver. "Thought he would be hanging around."

"He's got better things to do," Randy said, not wanting to discuss the Saint. "Why do you call him Mark?" he asked, his eyes narrow.

Shrugging, Dean said, "He looks like Mark Calaway from Virginia City."

"Do you see him like that too?" Randy asked Roman, who nodded.

"He said that he looked like Mark because I needed to see a friend when I was dying," Roman said, his jaw muscles twitching. He still had nightmares about dying alone in the pitch-black mine with blood filling his lungs and drenched in sweat.

Randy snorted. "Manipulative bastard," he muttered to himself. "I only call on him when a demon needs taking down," he said in a normal voice.

Dean's revolver spun out of his fingers and fell on the ground. It didn't discharge, luckily. Rolling his eyes, Roman shook his head. He and Randy moved to stand off to the side of Dean before resuming their discussion. "How do you know who is a demon if the Saint isn't around?" Roman asked.

"Didn't he explain anything to you?" Randy asked, frowning with impatience. Not at Roman though. The Saint should have at least caught them up to speed.

"He did some after I pitched a fit. But he didn't tell us anything about sensing demons. I don't think he thought we were going to survive long enough to bother," he shrugged.

Swearing to himself, Randy tapped his pencil against his chin. Finally he said, "The way I understand it is while the Saint possesses you, a very small amount of his spiritual essence remains in the wound in your soul made when you pull the triggers of the Colt Walkers. With that essence as a part of your soul, you become more sensitive to the spiritual energy around you. Demons have a very corrupt energy, almost oily. You can sense it, sort of like when you are being watched. But its different than that. That's why we need to go into town and expose you two to their presence. Its the only way you will develop the feel..._God damnit Ambrose_!" Randy shouted as Dean's gun went off, the bullet buzzing between Roman and Randy. The horses jumped.

"What?" Dean asked, innocently. "If I'm doing it wrong, then show me how to do it right. You're the teacher here." Dean's snide tone made Roman shake his head and smirk. Randy's superior attitude was grating on Dean too.

"For fuck's sake," Randy muttered, pulling one of his Smith and Wesson's from its holster. Dean's eyes were pinned to Randy's gun like a cat eying a twitching string. "Here, like this." Randy demonstrated the move slowly enough that both Dean and Roman could see exactly what he was doing. He did it slowly once more, then one last time at full speed. Roman had to admit it was impressive as hell.

Dean grinned like a maniac and tried again. This time it went smoother. And with less stray bullets.

"Something you might want to remember, in the real world gunmen who rely on flashy tricks and theatrics die quickly," Randy told Dean, not caring if he was listening or not. "The only old gunslingers are the ones that do not shoot to impress, but to kill." Again, there was that superior tone.

The rest of the day Randy made them show him their skills with their firearms and tracking. He had them shoot various targets and tested their reflexes. He himself demonstrated how to shoot two separate targets at once. "Normally, demons really aren't that hard to kill because every shot from the Colt Walker is a kill shot. But the Nexus is different, and you may have to take out two of them at once. Remember, when using the Colts, you don't have many tries to hit your targets before you yourself feel the effects." He frowned. "That reminds me, you've shot one demon each. How long did it take you to recover?"

Roman and Dean looked at each other. "An hour?" Roman hazarded. He had been unconscious afterward when Edge had found him. That memory reminded Roman that he wanted to ask Randy a question about Edge.

Dean shifted and shrugged. "How should I know? I had just been shot in the fucking head." He was annoyed that Randy had consistently outdrawn and out shot him. His temper was getting hot and either Randy didn't notice, or he didn't care.

It had been colossally bad luck that both Roman and Dean had been wounded while wielding the Colts. That probably added to their recovery time. Randy pursed his lips, remembering how long it took him his first time. He had been damned lucky no one had found him unconscious laying next to the dead body. The recovery period got shorter each time he pulled the trigger of a Colt Walker after that. It was because he had less soul to damage. Lately there was less pain and more numbing, which was itself even worse. He didn't need the Saint to tell him that was because his soul was damned near shredded from the last Nexus fight in which he had taken most of the kill shots. Swagger had been too new to wield the Walkers effectively, his soul too intact to repeatedly fire those damned guns too many times.

But he didn't tell them that. And with luck, they would never have to pay the terrible price Randy knew was coming due for himself for his protection of his student. Jack had accused him of arrogance and he agreed. But he had made his decision. "The two of you have to stay together so you can cover one another, otherwise you will be easy pickings."

Dean scowled at Randy's tone, if not his words. In his mind, Randy was heavily implying that him and Roman were too weak to work alone whereas Randy didn't seem to have that issue. Randy's attitude was so standoffish and superior that it really ground Dean's gears. He wanted to get a rise out of the man. He could see Roman was irritated too. "What about you, Orton? Don't you need anyone watching your back?" Dean challenged.

"No," Randy smirked right back in Dean's face. There was a hint of warning in his tone that Dean completely ignored.

"Oh yeah? And what makes you so special, Mr. Spoiled Brat I Had Everything Handed To Me Before I Fucked Everything Up And Got My Deputies Killed Randal Orton?" Dean demanded. Roman mentally winced. Dean had the self-preservation instincts of a depressed lemming.

Randy's face went white, then red. Roman actually thought he was going to draw his gun and shoot Dean. For a long minute the two glared at each other. Then Randy rolled his shoulders and smirked, a bitter twist of his lips. "Because I'm the best," he growled.

Speaking of nonexistent self-preservation instincts, Roman stepped in between them and said, "So you didn't you ride with Edge?" he asked. "Funny, I heard otherwise."

Surprised, Randy grimaced and turned away from Dean. He didn't like to think about Edge. "How did you know about Edge?" he asked, annoyed. "He's supposed to be dead."

"I ran into him a few days ago right before we took down Abigail," Roman said. "He looked pretty good for a dead man."

"Its funny, isn't it Roman? Everyone thinks Edge is dead," said Dean with fake thoughtfulness. "The word is getting out that Roman and I are dead too. You would think that if Hunter thought Orton was dead, he could do what he needed to do without looking over his shoulder constantly. But here he is, walking around practically daring Hunter and every other lawman to come get him. With an ego that size, you would think Mr. Orton feels he's better than everyone else. But he's obviously not smarter than everyone else, or he would make Hunter think he was dead too. Now that you and I are involved, I don't like feeling like a bull's eye is painted on me. Are you that full of yourself? What game are you playing Orton?" Dean was swaying on his feet, glaring at Randy through the fringe of his hair.

Eyes narrowed, Randy marveled at Dean's quicksilver mind. But Randy's temper was now running high. "The dangerous kind, Ambrose. Its not about Hunter."

"Then what?" Roman demanded. If they were ever going to trust Randy, and right now that wasn't looking like a possibility, they need the entire truth. "You're putting us in danger too."

"You ever run into a demon on a rampage?" Randy snapped, by now truly enraged. It was a rhetorical question. Obviously neither Dean nor Roman had.

"Well I have, and I'll spare you the details unless you want nightmares the rest of your life. Demons don't give a shit about human life. When they come up from hell, the first thing they do is slaughter anything in their path. After that, they keep going. You know what stops them? I do. So what can you do to minimize the damage, maybe even make them pause? Here's your answer: if a demon knows I'm here waiting for them when they cross over from hell, it makes them cautious. They hide their presence and now its less likely that civilians will get caught in the crossfire. And knowing I'm out there also keeps their attention focused on me, so Edge, or maybe someday even you or Roman here can kill them before they know you're there."

Dean's eyes widened at Randy's words and Roman held his breath. But Randy wasn't finished. He stalked towards Dean and snarled right in his face. "So yes, I do wear a fucking bull's eye on my chest. But I'm doing what I have to to win this damned war and minimize casualties," he growled. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Nope," Dean said, simple and direct. Roman could see a new respect for Randy in Dean's stance and felt a bit of relief that it hadn't ended in bloodshed. Of course, the day wasn't over yet.

Randy stepped back, flicking his gaze over to Roman who didn't move. "You have anything to add?"

Roman shrugged. "How long did you and Edge ride together?"

Rolling his eyes, Randy admitted "We partnered for a short time, back when he was new to the whole demon-hunting business." They had worked well together at first, but the size of their respective egos made a falling out inevitable and Edge's inability to keep it in his pants only hastened the end of the partnership. "In the end it was a mutual decision to go our separate ways."

He decided they needed to move on to another topic before someone got hurt for real. "If you have any other questions, **not** about my private life, you need to ask now since no one has bothered to fill you in," Randy snarked in case the Saint was listening. His temper was still uncertain but he worked to control it.

"Why are there demons here?" Dean asked suddenly. He had started twirling his revolver absently again. Randy had given him a lot to think about.

"Here in particular? Come Dean, you're smart enough to figure that one out. Helena is filled with millionaires. Who has more influence than people with money? If the Nexus can take over a millionaire or two, their influence is poised to spread worldwide. Or did you mean here in this country in general? That's easy to answer, we just fought a major war. They are attracted to all the death and misery it caused." Randy's face became cold once more. The War held horrifying memories for him. And after the War, when he had joined the Marshals there was a brief time he thought his life was getting better, that he could put the horror behind him. But the horror came back stronger than ever.

"You fought in Missouri," Roman said. It wasn't a question. Randy had mentioned earlier that he had rode with the Missouri volunteers. "Pretty harsh."

"What about '**no questions** about my private life' did you not understand?" Randy said through gritted teeth, his rage starting to boil again.

Finally feeling like had mastered the Border Roll, Dean put his revolver away. He looked at Randy and shrugged. "We know nothing about you, except for the stories which don't inspire confidence. We just want to know if we can trust you to have our backs," he said mildly.

_That_ opened Randy's eyes, both figuratively and literally. He calmed down a bit. He had been so concerned about not getting emotionally involved that he had forgotten that these guys needed to trust_ him_ and they couldn't do that if they knew nothing about him. He realized to his consternation that he had subconsciously been treating them like Ted and Cody: young guys that were inexperienced and still required his protection.

But they weren't. Dean and Roman were grown men with experience and confidence. He too would have been insulted had someone treated him the way he had been treating them. Ruefully he shook his head. _Randy, you've been alone too long,_ he thought._ You don't know how to deal with human beings anymore._

Glancing up to gauge the time, Randy decided it was time to eat. Both Dean and Roman still looked a bit weary from their ordeal with the Wyatts. He motioned them back to the cabin and started whipping up some biscuits to eat with hard cheese and stew.

"Alright, what do you want to know about me?"

Roman asked. "What's your story?"

As they ate, he told them about his family whom he had lost at a young age, his mother and older siblings were murdered by a gang of thugs while his father had been off fighting down in Mexico. He had hidden, too scared to move until he had been found by neighbors a day or so later, attracted by the smoke from the burned out homestead. He had been sent to an orphanage where he lived until he was old enough to survive on his own.

He had enlisted in the army, lying about his age. He told them about War. Missouri was a unique state in that it had its own troops fighting on both sides, literally dividing the state. Neighbor fought neighbor and entire families were slaughtered by marauding troops. Randy's voice was very matter of fact throughout the whole telling.

Roman and Dean listened quietly while they ate. Finally Randy shrugged. "After the War I wanted to get away, so I joined the Marshals and came out here. Hunter had known my father from his army days so he took me under his wing. You pretty much know what happened after that."

Roman and Dean exchanged glances. "So what's the plan regarding the Nexus?" Roman asked, feeling a bit better about their mentor.

"You've already figured out Plan A." Randy said. "They know I'm in the area. They can't let me live and they know it. They'll have to come after me before I get to them. But they don't know about you." His grin was predatory. "They won't see you coming."

"So, what's Plan B?" Dean asked, his eyes a bit feral. He enjoyed hunting dangerous creatures, human or not. This plan had more than enough variables to make it very exciting.

Randy answered with a psychotic grin of his own. "Burn Helena to the fucking ground. Lets see them try to hide when their bolt-holes go up in smoke."

If anyone had told Roman that the best teacher he would ever have would be Randy Orton, he would have smirked, and then flattened them for being such an idiot they were a danger to people around them. Everything he ever heard about Orton was bad: the man was a murderer and a traitor; he was arrogant and difficult to work with; he had a mean temper. Technically everything Roman had heard was true. But he began to realize over the course of the next few days that despite all the stories, Randy took his responsibilities about teaching him and Dean how to survive in a world of demons while being hunted by the authority, very seriously. Once he got over his attitude, Randy was a pretty decent guy.

But that didn't mean he wasn't an asshole, Roman decided as he drifted off to sleep as Randy stood watch, feeling almost safe for the first time since before setting out after the Wyatts.

_Notes__:_

_In case you are new to wrestling, I am very loosely basing this story on the Nexus storyline that took place in 2010. _

_Helena actually has burned to the ground several times over the course of its history. The symbol of the town is the fire tower on the hill overlooking Last Chance Gulch, which is where the gold was discovered. _

_I had to listen to Bury Me With My Guns On by Bobaflex about 100 times to beat this one into a decent chapter that needed to address certain future plot points and some character development. They say 90% of what you write initially is crap (and that's very true in my own experience). And the 10% that may be decent enough to get through an editing process is mediocre at best. I wrote and rewrote and rewrote this chapter. That's why it took so long to get out. I had to convince myself that "good enough" is not a standard I want to strive for. "Best" is worth going for, even if it takes longer. _

_As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization. ~ Belle_


	4. Chapter 4

**Legend Killer Chapter 4**

_**I've Got Some Bad News**_

Seth and John rode into the long valley from the south and saw the town in the distance, nestled in the gulch underneath the mountain with north-facing limestone cliffs. The air was heavy, the wind light and the sky was impossibly blue with not a single cloud in sight.

As they neared the town, they could already tell Helena was alive in a way Virginia City was not. The city was filled with the sounds of building and industry. There were plenty of people strolling by on business of their own. The town looked neat, like someone had just tidied up. The buildings were new, and there was very little trash and muck in the streets. The wide dirt streets were so crowded John and Seth had to walk their horses to avoid pedestrians and wagons. As they neared to main part of the town, where the gulch ran straight down the center, John stopped and asked for directions to the sheriff's office.

As he waited for John, Seth looked around and nearly fell off his horse when he recognized a sorrel horse with two white stockings standing hip-shot, hitched to a rail. He smothered a smile and scanned the area, trying to spot his friend. But there were so many people out and about he couldn't spot him. Then Cena called for Seth to follow and they leisurely made their way through the town and up the hill on the east side of the gulch.

They stopped in front of a large building made of gray stone overlooking the gulch. A freshly painted sign proclaimed the building as the 'Jail', as if it wasn't obvious from the bars on the windows. And yet, even in this rich, booming town there was a man was laying on the ground, shoulders propped against the building across from the jail, a bottle of rotgut in his hand and his hat pulled low over his face. It appeared Helena had its share of drunkards as well.

They dismounted, tied their horses to the rail and entered the building. After the warm sunshine, the interior of the jail was cool and dark. The solid gray stone walls were occasionally broken up by iron barred-windows. It was quiet in the jail as Seth and John entered. A deputy was sitting behind the desk in the entryway, reading a newspaper. He didn't bother to look up. "Can I help you?" he inquired, there was just a hint to condescension and impatience in his voice and Seth frowned.

Evidently Cena had caught that too. "We're here to see Sheriff Barrett," John said, tipping his hat back on his head. His voice brooked no argument.

The deputy looked at them, his eyes widening upon seeing Cena's and Seth's US Marshal badges. He hastily stood up and motioned for the pair to follow him into Wade's office. "Sheriff, there's some Marshals here to see you," he said, glancing at them nervously.

A dark-haired man sitting behind a desk looked up as they entered. He had a short beard and an arrogant smirk. His nose looked like someone had tried to flatten it in the past. "I'm Sheriff Wade Barrett. And who might you be?" he asked. He had a heavily English accent. And again, a superior tone.

"John Cena, US Marshal," John introduced himself. He gestured at Seth. "US Deputy Marshal Seth Rollins."

Barrett looked strangely delighted. "Ah! US Marshal Cena! It's good to have you here. What brings you to my territory?" The man grinned from ear to ear, like he was in on the world's biggest joke. He stood up and offered his hand to Cena. The man was surprisingly tall and lanky.

Barrett ignored Seth, which was fine with him. Seth tried to meld into the background so he could observe. He was getting a strange feeling about Barrett and his deputy, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. The 'my territory' comment seemed very egotistical, but Wade did win an election so maybe he was justifiably bragging. Nevertheless, Barrett had only spoken a few words but Seth already didn't like him.

"What can I do for you?" Barrett asked Cena after they shook and Barrett gestured for Cena to sit in the chair in front of the desk. There was more than a hint of 'why are you here?' in his question. Seth remained standing.

"We heard Randy Orton might be in the area. Judge Hunter sent us to track down and capture him," John said. Seth mentally perked up and made a note to ask John about the 'capture' phrase. Hunter had explicitly said 'kill'. Was John willing to go against his orders? Interesting.

Barrett's face took on a slightly uneasy expression. Looking over at his deputy, Barrett said, "Justin, get us something to drink. I'm sure these men could use it after having been on the road for a while." He waited for the deputy to leave, then turned back to Cena. "Ah, you heard about the ruckus at the saloon. I assure you Marshal Cena that I am taking it seriously. Three people were killed that night. My deputies are investigating it. There were plenty of eye-witnesses, but unfortunately most of them were drunk. So far no one reliable has named Randy Orton as the killer."

"What about the bartender?" John asked.

"He has been curiously reticent about divulging information," Barrett said, the superior tone in his voice coupled with his choice of words really made Seth want to beat his face it.

John made a show of raising his eyebrows at the impressive vocabulary Barrett had displayed. He responded with a smirk of his own. "Perhaps I can convince him to be more forthcoming with his account of the turn of events."

Barrett grinned again, not seeming to get Cena was mocking him. Seth smothered his own grin by scratching his scruffy beard.

Justin came back with a tea set, of all things. Wade poured some of the hot liquid for himself and Cena. He poured a cup for Seth who declined. Barrett frowned but didn't insist.

"This is the first lead on Orton in over a year," John pointed out. "We need to follow up on it."

Sheriff Barrett smiled again. It was almost...predatory. "I didn't say coming here was a waste of your time, only that so far we haven't been able to verify it was Orton in the saloon that night. If it was, then it doesn't follow his usual pattern."

"Orton doesn't have a pattern, except disappearing after he kills his targets," John countered. "Three people were killed in the saloon. How do you know it wasn't them he was targeting?"

"Because they confronted him, not the other way around. The witnesses say the killer was trying to avoid a confrontation, but he was provoked by one of the three he ended up killing. They say the victim tried to disarm him but the killer used a gunslinger's trick to turn the tables and shoot them. No, Marshal Cena, I believe if Randy Orton is still nearby, then his target it still walking around."

Barrett, at least, was well reasoned, Seth thought.

"If he is still here in Helena, we need to figure out who his target is. So far, they have been completely random, " John said, drinking his tea. "Do you have a list of witnesses? I would like to talk to them again," John said.

Barrett nodded and motioned for his deputy to get the list for John. While they waited, John finished his tea. The deputy came back and handed John a list of names and places where the witnesses could be found. After that, both Wade and John stood up and shook hands again. Barrett nodded to Seth, who nodded back, keeping his face neutral.

As they left the jail, John was quiet. Seth had learned John could talk a mile a minute when he got rolling. A quiet John was something new. Seth offered to take care of the horses and get them some rooms, just to get the conversation started, John only nodded in agreement. When Seth asked what John's next move was, he saw John's eyebrows draw together, like he was having a hard time focusing. John paused at his horse for a moment.

"Hey, you okay John?" Seth asked.

John shook his head as if to clear it, but grinned the same dimpled grin Seth had come to know over the past two days. "I'm fine, just a bit tired. I'm not used to being in the saddle for so long. I'll go talk to the bartender," John said, shaking his head. "Meet me at the boarding house in a couple of hours so we can plan our next move."

Taking John's horse by the reins, Seth watched John walk off down the street, feeling something wasn't right. His musings were abruptly interrupted when someone lurched into him. Startled, he recognized the drunk who had been sleeping by the building across the street. "Watch it!" he snapped.

"You shouldn't be hanging around the sheriff's office," the man slurred, his voice familiar. The man was hanging onto Seth's shoulder for balance. "He's bad news."

Shocked, Seth stared in delight at Dean, who put up a finger to his lips before Seth could say anything. Dean's eyes were clear and the color was back in his face. He looked much better than the last time Seth had seen him, he had been pale and weak, still dealing with the concussion from being shot in the head. Now he looked rested and alert. Whatever Dean and Roman had been doing in Helena, it definitely agreed with him.

"Meet me behind the livery," Dean muttered, swaying against Seth's shoulder, then pushing off and staggered away. People were giving him dirty looks as he brushed by them.

Not wanting to make it obvious he knew Dean, Seth waited a bit before he followed. Leading his and John's horses, he took his time and threaded through the heavy traffic on the dirt street. He found the livery easily enough after asking for directions. The proprietor met him and agreed to feed and care for the two horses. After removing their saddles and bridles, Seth turned the horses loose into the paddock to rest. Grabbing his and John's saddle bags, he slung them over his shoulders and walked around back of the livery. He looked around for Dean, finally seeing him a ways off, slouched under a tree. As Seth neared, Dean stood up, motioned for Seth to follow and faded back into an alley behind a small building which looked like a laundry from the amount of clothes drying on the lines.

The mountain sloped up a thousand feet above them. Dean took a deer trail which led them up and away from the town, between rocks and trees, and effectively hiding them from prying eyes and from being overheard. Finally Dean stopped under some pine trees and waited for Seth, who was both amused and annoyed at having to chase his friend so far.

"Seth!" Dean grinned and wrapped his arms around Seth in a hug, clapping him on his back. Seth hugged him back, grinning. He hadn't realized how much he had missed his brother-in-arms. "What are you doing here?" Dean asked as he stepped back. "You were supposed to be in Virginia City keeping an eye on Hunter."

"Hunter ordered me to escort John Cena up here." Seth said, letting the saddlebags slip to the ground. They were heavy and the day was warming up.

Dean's eyes widened. He had heard of Cena. "Cena? I thought he was in Washington DC. What's he doing here?"

"Vince McMahon sent him at Hunter's request. He's here to hunt down Orton." Seth caught Dean up on the events in Virginia City, including his talk with Mark. "What were you doing down there?" Seth asked.

"I was keeping an eye on Sheriff Wade Barrett and Deputy Justin Gabriel. Those two are part of the Nexus. Seriously creepy by the way." Dean gave an exaggerated shudder. He was starting to be able to feel what Randy had described to him and Roman, how to sense the demons' presence without the Saint. It really was like being covered in something oily and dirty, and it made him more twitchy than usual. He felt like he needed to take a bath.

"Wait, Barrett is part of the Nexus?" Seth asked, horrified. He had felt something was off, but never suspected Wade Barrett was a demon. He felt sweat gathering on his back at the thought of himself and Cena having to work with him.

"Yes, he is. And all of his deputies, Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater and David Otunga," Dean added as an afterthought.

"Aren't you worried they will notice you?" Seth asked, concerned for his friend.

"Who looks closely at a drunk sleeping on the street?" Dean snorted.

Seth had to admit Dean had a point. He himself had noticed Dean but dismissed him as a homeless drunk. "Where's Roman at?" he asked, eager to see his other partner.

"Him and Orton are getting a bead on the last members of the Nexus. Orton figures we should be able to take them down within the next day or so, if everything goes to plan." And Dean fervently hoped so. He hated the feeling of demons nearby. He wondered how Randy could stand it. One of the many things he wondered about their mentor. Randy had told them about himself, but he was still closed-mouthed about a few things. That irritated Dean to no end and he made it his mission to aggravate Randy about it at every turn.

"Who else is Nexus?' Seth asked.

Dean pulled out a list from his jacket pocket and gave it to Seth. "If you meet any of these guys, get away from them as soon as possible," Dean advised.

Looking at the list, Seth's eyes widened. There was an aide to the Mayor, the Sheriff and the three deputies, and a banker of all things. "Christ," he muttered to himself. "You have to kill all these guys?

Grinning like a psycho, Dean's eyes gleamed. "Its gonna be fun!" he promised.

Sounds drifted up from the town below: the rumbling of digging, a horse whinnying and a man shouting. In front of them, the valley spread out, surrounded by mountains. To the north, one mountain looked like a giant, laying on his back sleeping. Seth said, "You should know Cena has been ordered to kill Orton. Hunter doesn't want him to even try to arrest him."

"OK, I'll let Orton know," Dean promised. He turned to Seth and looked him straight in the eye, serious. "Listen, you have to be careful around Barrett and his guys. They are Nexus, so don't turn your back to them. Also, do not accept anything to eat or drink from them. They can make you open to possession if you do."

Seth felt his insides turn to ice. "Shit," he said.

Eyes widening in panic, Dean grabbed Seth by his arms and shook him. "Tell me you didn't have anything, Seth," he ordered, his face right in Seth's, eyes blazing. "Tell me right now!"

"I didn't" Seth hastily reassured his friend, but it didn't lessen the horrible feeling inside. "But John did." Seeing Dean's look, he told him about John accepting the tea from Barrett. "Is it too late?"

Dean looked grim. He didn't want to lie to Seth or give him false hope. "You should consider him a casualty of war," he advised. Seeing Seth's stricken expression, Dean softened. He hated seeing Seth upset, so he tried to offer something. "Look, maybe there is something we can do about it. If we kill the Nexus fast enough, he might be OK. Like I said, it only makes you open to possession and if they haven't taken him before we can kill them…" Dean considered what he was saying. "Maybe it isn't like the Wyatts, where they all died when Abigail bought it. I don't know. Maybe Randy does. But don't let him drink any more of Barrett's tea, if you can. "

Knowing Dean was trying to make him feel better, Seth nodded, pretending Dean's words helped. "Could you make sure Orton knows about Cena?" he asked. "He is only doing what Hunter ordered him to do. I'd rather not have to kill him for doing his job." Seeing Dean looking at him, his lips twisted into a half-grin. "He not a bad man," he shrugged.

Dean adjusted his hat. "I'll pass it on to Orton, but I'm not sure he'll care. That is one cold-blooded son of a bitch," he said almost admiringly.

"What's he like?" Seth asked, trying to change the subject. He was curious about Randy and was almost looking forward to meeting the man who was already a legend in the law enforcement community.

"He's exactly like how the stories describe him; which is to say, he's an asshole," Dean replied without hesitation. "But," a dreamy smile appeared on Dean's face. "The guy is _amazing_ with a gun."

"Glad you think so highly of me, Ambrose," a deep voice came from behind them, making them both jump. Dean instantly pulled his gun again, leveling it at the two newcomers. He didn't shoot when he recognized Roman and Randy, instead settled for cursing at them about sneaking up on him. Orton rolled his eyes, but his smirk was laced with tolerance. "Gotta be faster than that," he advised Dean who glared as he stuffed the revolver back into its holster. Orton's gaze shifted to Seth.

_Cold _was the only word Seth could think of to describe Randy Orton. His eyes were ice, his demeanor was cool. But he carried himself with an air utter confidence. "And you are?" Orton asked, as casual as a coiled snake. His hand was near his gun.

It was Roman who answered. "Seth!" he moved forward and caught Seth up in a rib-cracking hug.

Dean and Randy stepped back and watched, one with amusement, the other with speculation. "This the guy who is supposed to be keeping an eye on Hunter?' he asked Dean.

"Yep," Dean answered. Then shut his mouth.

Seeing Randy glare at him, Dean raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Randy continued to glare.

"Oh? You want more information?" Dean asked innocently, not phased in the slightest.

Randy continued to glare, shifting his balance slightly so he could loom over Dean. Being that Dean and Randy were damned near the same height, it didn't really work though. And Dean wasn't one to _ever_ be intimidated. So it became a stare-down that only broke off when Roman snorted in amusement.

"You two planning on standing there all day?" he drawled, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. Both Randy and Dean turned their glares on him, but that worked about as well as it did on each other.

More than used to breaking up glare-downs, Seth rolled his eyes and muttered, "For fuck's sake." He raised his voice and said "I'm Seth Rollins," introducing himself to Orton.

Orton's gaze transferred back to Seth. For a long moment he just looked at Rollins, then hIs eyes flicked down to Seth's badge and he nodded to Seth in acknowledgment. "Randy Orton," he responded.

"Dean tells me you and Roman were tracking down the last members of Nexus?" Seth wanted to get the conversation back on track. "Did you get that done?" He was used to taking control of situations, since Dean and Roman tended to get caught up in one-upmanship. It appeared Randy might have the same tendency.

But Roman and Randy exchanged glances. Roman's lip curled into a snarl, but it was Randy who answered. "Yes, we did. And we've got some bad news. Nexus has been spreading faster than expected. We are looking at nine members now," Randy said. Dean's eyes lit up. "Oh even better!" he enthused, ignoring the withering look Roman sent him.

"What's the plan?" Seth asked, and once again, he found himself on the receiving end of that icy Orton stare.

Randy reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette. Taking a match out of his pocket, he lit it with his thumbnail and lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, tilting his head back to exhale the smoke into the air. "You don't need to know," Randy told Seth, the cigarette bobbing between his lips as he spoke. "You're not equipped to go up against the Nexus. And if they possess you, then they can't learn our plans. You should go back to town and lay low until this is done," he advised.

"No, no," Dean was shaking his head for emphasis at his words before Seth could draw a breath to argue. "We need him. He's part of this."

"Besides," Roman said. "He's our partner."

Randy twitched an eyebrow at that. "The Saint protects us. Who protects him?" he asked.

"We do," Roman answered.

For a second it looked like Randy was going to argue, but he saw the identical look of determination on the trio's faces and knew it was a lost cause. "It up to you," he shrugged. "If he gets taken over by Nexus, then it you who gets to put him down."

"I won't eat or drink anything from the Nexus," Seth said impatiently.

"Doesn't have to be voluntary. Just ask your pal Reigns," Randy shot back, venom dripping from his voice.

Seth had to admit Randy did have a very valid point, but Seth would never back down. "I know I can't kill them, but I can help," he said. "And I can keep Cena from getting more involved."

"Who?" Randy asked, puzzled. The name was vaguely familiar but he was understandably out of the loop when it came to the current Marshal roster.

"John Cena, a Marshal from out east Hunter brought in to kill you," Seth said. "He drank some of Wade Barrett's tea."

Roman scowled harder than usual, but Randy shrugged, unconcerned. "If he gets taken over by Nexus, he's dead." Seeing Seth look at him, he raised his eyebrows and said, "What now? Get your priorities straight, Rollins. We are dealing with something bigger than a single guy. "

"He's not a bad man, Orton. I just think we should give him a chance. He doesn't deserve to be destroyed by Nexus without even getting a chance to fight back," Seth argued. He could see Dean and Roman looking at him. Roman looked vaguely sympathetic, but Dean didn't.

Exhaling smoke, Randy stepped up into Seth's personal space. His eyes bore right into Seth's. "If you want to tell Cena everything, be my guest. But if he doesn't believe you and ends up getting in my way, I will kill him. Don't ever think that I will risk myself, or these two here," he jerked a thumb at Dean and Roman, "for some guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is not enough of us as it is to deal with this shitstorm known as Nexus."

"You think he might help us if he knows what going on?" Roman asked.

Hesitantly, Seth nodded. "He's a good person, he'll want to help. And if we can take down the Nexus fast enough, we can save him."

Rolling his eyes, Randy shook his head. "Look, Rollins. He may be a good person, as you say, but you know the Saint only recruits remorseless killers for this particular job. That is exactly why Cena won't ever be able to do what we do. _Its obvious he isn't a killer_. We are. Now I appreciate your sticking up for the guy, but don't delude yourself into thinking we are heroes. We aren't. We are the bad guys, stuck in this shitty situation which is to keep something even worse than us from entering this world. The only reward we have to look forward to is getting killed, usually very violently and in a lot of pain. But we'll do it, because we have no fucking choice. Killing Nexus is our priority, not saving John Cena."

Seth's eyes widened as he heard Randy telling him the almost the same thing Mark had told him. He knew Randy was right; John wasn't a killer. And they were more important than Cena.

But Dean was right too: Orton was an asshole.

Satisfied that he got his point across, Randy removed his attention from Seth and was looking up at the sky, frowning. There were clouds building to the west. "It looks like there is a storm brewing for tonight, boys." He grinned an unlikely, smokey grin, and pulled the cigarette from between his teeth. "Thats when we take down the Nexus."

**TBC**

_Notes__:_

_As always, if you would like to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it! And if you have any questions, please contact me. I love to discuss writing, story development and characterization (and wrestling!). ~ Belle_

_The Helena jail is now the Myrna Loy Center for the arts. It still has bars on the windows._

_The Sleeping Giant is a formation north of Helena that really does look like a sleeping giant. It is part of a wilderness study area._


	5. Chapter 5

**Legend Killer**

_Warning: mention of minor character death and swearing._

Inside his isolated cabin up in the mountains overlooking Helena, Randy was going through his belongings. Having left Roman and Dean back in town to keep an eye on things, he planned to be long gone as soon as they were done taking down the demon collective. With yet another US Marshal sniffing around, he knew the longer he stayed in one place, the greater the chances were he would be either arrested or killed. He knew he would kill the Marshal if it came down to it. He wasn't eager to do it but he would if there was no choice. That was the recurring theme of his existence: kill or be killed.

After a lifetime of both witnessing and then taking part in human slaughter, Randy was used to it but honestly, he was tired of it. Demons he could and would kill easily and with great satisfaction. It was the humans that insisted on interfering with his purpose in life that he was having troubles with. He had begged Ric to leave him alone, to turn back. But Ric wouldn't listen, had insisted that Randy turn himself in and face justice for the "murder" of a demon-possessed human. After refusing to listen to Randy, to believe him when he told Ric about the Saint and what had happened to Ted and Cody, and trying to kill him for resisting arrest, Randy had no choice but to kill Ric.

Such was the trajectory of his life.

Distant thunder rolled off the mountains. He stiffened when he felt the Saint's presence behind him but didn't turn around to face him. "What do you want old man? Its not time yet." He rolled up a wool blanket and stuffed it into his pack.

The Saint regarded Randy's back. Then he said without preamble, _'Edge is dead._' He didn't bother trying to soften the blow with comforting words. He knew Randy would have none of that.

Randy's hesitation was barely noticeable, his jaw muscles jumping as he clamped down on the shock, then he quickly resumed his sorting. "What happened?" he asked, his voice steady.

Sighing, the Saint said, _'He was ambushed by your old friend Dave Batista.'_

This time, the hesitation was more pronounced. Randy just stood for long seconds with his head bowed. Then swearing loudly, Randy threw his pack violently against the wall. Kicking over the table, he paced in agitation around the small room, randomly stopping to kick some furniture or throw something. The Saint watched him but did not say anything as Randy continued to vent his rage and grief. Finally, Randy sat heavily on the crude wooden bench and clutched his head in his hands as he fought to regain control himself.

'_Son,' _the Saint began, reaching a hand out to him, but Randy interrupted him savagely.

"Don't! Just...don't! He was supposed to be our ace in the hole. The one nobody knew about." Randy's voice broke, but after a few shuddering breaths, he scrubbed his hands over his face and looked up. His blue-gray eyes were red, but dry. "What happened?" he asked, his voice was hollow but steady once again.

'_I wasn't there until the end, he hadn't yet called on me to confront the demon that had come through. I got there just as he was shot and saw the killer,' t_he Saint explained.

"Was it quick?" Randy asked. He knew from experience that a quick death was sometimes the best one of them could hope for. After watching Ted and Cody die, the thought of Edge being subject to what they went through was nauseating. He desperately hoped that was not the case.

'_He...yes, it was quick,' _the Saint apparently changed his mind about what he was going to tell Randy, but Randy breathed a sigh of relief anyway. The Saint wouldn't lie to him.

"Did he...was he able to…?" Randy trailed off, not wanting to ask, but needing to know.

Knowing what Randy meant, the Saint nodded. _'He was able to move on. There was enough left of his soul.' _

"Good," Randy took one last deep breath and stood up. "That's good." He nodded at the Saint, his chin raised, determined not to broach the topic. They both knew that it was unlikely that Randy would any soul left by the time this ugly little war was over. Only a soul, even a damaged one could move on to the afterlife. But with the continuous soul-destroying use of the Colt Walkers, Randy himself was in serious trouble. Without a soul, he would never move on, caught for eternity in the nothingness between afterlives. A fate worse than the torment of hell.

Changing the subject, Randy mused out loud, "So we continue to get picked off one by one. Fuck."

'_Do you think its a coincidence that it was a US Marshal who killed him?' _the Saint asked, his voice dry.

Randy knew damned well it wasn't a coincidence. "When we're done with Nexus, I think its time I pay Hunter a little visit." He turned and faced the Saint, glaring at the spirit who had eyes exactly like his own. Seeing the Saint's deeply troubled expression, Randy's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Oh, what now?" he asked.

'_The demon that Edge was going after. I saw what it is,'_ the Saint said with reluctance.

"For fuck's sake, tell me already," Randy snapped, now truly exasperated. Given the trajectory of his life, he couldn't imagine that anything the Saint of Killers had to say would be good news.

'_It was Satan's pet, simply known as the Beast.' _the Saint said. _'Its the most powerful demon I know of.'_

Randy closed his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Of course it is. Shit," he muttered. "Is it still in the Dakota Territory?" He was already mentally mapping out a course of action.

'_Yes. But its making its way to Montana territory,' _was the answer. _'I think its coming for you. It has already killed many people.'_

...And here was the new normal for Randy.

He had watched his family get slaughtered. He accepted that he was alone and eventually ran away from the orphanage to join the army. Then things in the army went to shit when the War Between the States started. By the age of 21, numb to the horror and bloodshed, when the war finally ended he left the army to join the US Marshals. He hadn't realized how much worse things could get but then Ted and Cody were killed and he became a soldier in a demon war. Humans had nothing on demons when it came to inventing way to make a person suffer.

His life, such as it was, consisted of hunting demons who tortured humans in new and creative ways, while avoiding being captured by humans. Now he was being hunted by both. If this Beast got his hands on him, Randy knew from experience his death would not come until after hours or days of excruciating agony. He nodded to himself, forcing himself to accept the situation and start dealing with it. "Very well. When we get Nexus squared away, I'll send the boys after Hunter. That will get them out of the way while I go stop the Beast." There was no point in running from it.

The Saint knew what Randy was thinking and tried again, _'Son,' _he started to say, but Randy cut him off again.

Getting up into the Saint's face he growled, "Just be sure to keep your promise, old man. That's the only thing I need from you." He turned and started picking up the aftermath of his rage. Things went from bad to worse, and he got used to it.

Such was the trajectory of his life.

Finding the saloon wasn't very hard for John. Compared to Washington DC, Helena was a relatively small town. It wasn't big enough to have that many saloons and they were all located in the same general area. After asking around, John was pointed in right direction. The saloon where the shooting took place was fairly small and nothing fancy. He walked in through the open door. The windows were wide open, letting the tepid breeze swirl the dirt on the rough wooden floor. The bar itself was well-stocked and clean.

There was a man behind the bar with his back to the door, but the mirror strategically placed on the wall behind the bar was enough for the bartender to see anyone entering.

"Not open yet!" he called when he saw John enter, not turning around. "Come back about three," he recommended. The bartender seemed friendly, until he turned around and saw John's badge. Then his face, complete with a black eye and a swollen jaw, went neutral.

"Not here to drink," John replied easily, subconsciously trying to convey he was a friendly. He tipped his hat back on his head. "Just looking for some information."

The bartender's eyes darted around nervously, but there was no where to run and no one to call for help. Cena stood between him and the door. He swallowed audibly, but raised his chin. Not a coward then. "I already told them everything I know," he muttered, wiping nervously at a glass.

"Who?" Cena asked.

"Sheriff Barrett and his deputies," the bartender said. There was bitterness in his voice and John suspected that Barrett had something to do with the bruises on the man's face.

"I'm not going to hurt you," John said, annoyed at Barrett. John himself wasn't averse to violence, indeed he could apply a beating better than most. But the time and place of said beating usually had more of an impact than the beating itself. "I just want to talk to you about…"

"Randy Orton, I know," the bartender finished for him. "I'll tell you what I told the sheriff. He was just sitting in here minding his own business. He was joined by two other guys and they went to leave when one of them was pushed into a card game, and Orton broke it up peacefully. But then some idiot decided to call him out. Orton killed him and the two guys backing him. It was self defense from what I could tell." The bartender shrugged. "He didn't start it. And after it was over, he just left. A couple of the boys dragged the bodies out back for the undertaker to pick up." The bartender's tone implied that bodies weren't an unusual occurrence.

"And you sure it was Orton?" John asked.

The bartender shrugged. "Could have been, but who knows for sure? He didn't announce himself."

John tapped a finger on the bar as he thought. "Describe the two guys who joined him, " he requested. That wasn't included in the reports he'd read. Randy worked alone as far as he knew.

The bartender leaned back and looked at the ceiling as he thought. "They were both taller than you, one had long black hair, looked like a mixed breed if you ask me. The other had sandy blond hair and an attitude. Neither looked real healthy though, liked they'd been through some shit, if you pardon my french."

John waved away the cussing. It was not like he hadn't heard it before. "Have you seen them around before?"

"No, by the looks of them, they had been on the trail for a while."

"Was there anything else?" he asked. The two men didn't sound like anyone who were wanted for anything. But if they'd joined up with Orton, then something must be going on besides the usual hit and run. John's thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected dizziness. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.

"You alright there, Marshal?" the bartender asked, looking concerned. "You look like a goose just wandered over your grave."

John took a deep breath and the dizziness passed. "I'm fine. Been awhile since I traveled this far and haven't gotten used to it. Probably just need to grab some food." He hoped that was it. He focused on his job. "If you see any of those men, or remember anything else that would help me find them, come tell me right away. I'm at the boarding house." John said. He wasn't asking and the bartender knew it. But John wasn't a bully. He pulled out a silver coin and gave it to the bartender, whose eyes had grown large.

"I will," the bartender promised.

John took his time walking across town to the boarding house. He found Seth sitting in a chair on the porch with his boots propped up on the railing, looking lost in his own thoughts until he saw John. His eyes sharpened as John approached and he stood up. "Hey John," he greeted him. "Did you find out anything?"

Motioning for Seth to sit down again, John climbed the steps to the porch. The sun seemed overly hot and he was glad to be in the shade of the overhang. "I found out that Orton left the saloon with two other men, neither of whom had been there before." John reported as he sat wearily in a chair beside Seth's. "I got a description of them and we'll start there."

"You alright?" Seth asked. John was looking a bit pale and Seth was justifiably concerned after his talk with Dean, Roman and Randy.

Removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead, John shrugged. "A bit warm," he admitted. He looked up at the clouds building from the west, their fluffy gray tops barely visible over the mountain peaks, hoping that they would bring some relief from the sun and heat.

Shaking his head, Seth glanced around and said, "We need to talk."

Curious, John glanced at Seth, his eyes narrowing at seeing the deputy's pensive expression. He leaned backward in his chair and put his feet up on the railing, mirroring Seth. "What about?" he asked.

"Wade Barrett and his crew," Seth said, keeping his voice pitched low. His eyes were on the street in front of them, watching the foot and horse traffic flow by. Behind them, the breeze twitched the curtain in the open window to the sitting room.

Remembering the bartender's face, John nodded in understanding. "What about them?" he asked, trying to draw Seth out. He was interested in what Seth's impression of the sheriff and his deputies were. A another perspective always came in handy.

"I don't think they are what they seem," Seth started, searching for the words he needed to convince John of the impossible. "In fact, I think there is more to them than we know, and its pretty bad." If he could convince John that the sheriff and his men were evil, it would go a long way to help Randy, Dean and Roman. He glanced over at John, who didn't look surprised. "Judging by your expression, you are either a very good poker player, or this doesn't surprise you," Seth said, his voice dry.

Quirking a grin, John shook his head. "I'm not good at poker, so its the latter. Someone had beat up the bartender at the saloon, and even though he didn't name names, I am pretty sure it was either Barrett or one of his guys."

"He okay?" Seth asked.

John nodded. "He'll live, but he's not a fan of Barrett. He was willing to talk, so they shouldn't have needed to rough the guy up," he shrugged, leaning back and closing his eyes. He didn't see Seth watching a drunk stagger by, an amused look on his face. "So what else you got?" he asked. There had to be more for Seth to bring it up.

"Do you believe in the supernatural?" Seth asked, seemingly completely at random. He was still watching the drunk who was now leaning against a nearby tree.

"What?" John asked opening his eyes, baffled at the sudden change in topics.

"Do you believe in supernatural?" Seth asked again, patiently.

Mulling it over, John thought about it. "You mean like demons and angels and things?" he wanted to know.

"Yes," Seth answered, drawing his attention away from the drunk and back to John.

John thought about it for a while. "I wouldn't pretend to know for sure if such things exist. But in my experience, I have yet to see one," he said.

Knowing that John had already seen some but didn't know it, Seth pressed his lips together and scratched at his short beard. The drunk man staggered over to the boarding house. Hanging on the porch railing, he started singing an obnoxious song. Seth shook his head and tried not to laugh at the outraged looks from passersby.

"But I guess if I had to answer your question, I do think there is more out there than we know about. _There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy_. " John shot an annoyed look at the singing drunk. His head was hurting and the singing was completely out of tune.

For a while John and Seth sat on the porch, not talking. The drunk man stopped singing and was muttering to himself as he watched the people walk by. John was just about to suggest they go find some food when he recognized the bartender striding down the street towards the boarding house. He waved a hand to get the bartender's attention and Seth glanced over, puzzled.

"Marshal!" the bartender said, even though John was looking right at him. "I remembered something else."

John sat up, ignoring the buzzing in his head. "What is it?" he asked, completely calm. He noticed that Seth was watching him with some concern. He wondered if he looked as bad as he was feeling. The drunk man looked interested, too.

"I saw them when they rode by the doors of the saloon when they left, one of them was riding a black horse."

"Were there any marking on the horse?" Seth asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, a solid black," the bartender answered confidently. He smiled as he caught the small coin John tossed to him. "Thank you Marshal," he beamed.

"Thank you sir, for letting me know," John appreciated the information. There were not too many black horses in town and that narrowed the field considerably. John turned to Seth and was just about to ask him if he was hungry when the bartender, who had turned to leave practically shouted in surprise.

"It's him!" the bartender yelped, his eyes wide as he stared at Dean.

Still slouched against the rail, Dean squinted at the bartender. "Him who?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"You're him!" the bartender said again, pointing at Dean.

"I dare you to make less sense," Dean mumbled and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

"You're one of the guys who left the saloon with Orton that night." The bartender looked at John, "This is the guy!"

Oh shit.

John stood up and Seth followed suit, not sure what he needed to do right then. But he was not about to let John arrest Dean. He put a hand on his gun, but Dean subtly put out hand to stop Seth from drawing on John. Seth bit his lip, but trusted Dean to know what he was doing.

"Are you sure?" John asked the bartender, his face was serious.

"Yes!" the bartender said again. "I'm sure of it Marshal."

John stepped down the steps and stood in front of Dean, who looked at him with that confused expression that only Dean could do so well. "Sir, please come with me," John started to say, but Dean pulled back, suspicion replacing the confused, drunken look he maintained. Seth marveled at Dean's acting ability.

"Who're you?" Dean demanded, slurring his words perfectly.

"US Marshal John Cena, and I need to talk to you about Randy Orton."

"Never heard of 'em," Dean mumbled, swaying.

"He's lying," The bartender said quickly, hoping to get even more money from John. "He was there at the saloon and left with Orton, I swear it. He was the one pushed into the card game!"

Seth desperately wished he could shut the guy up.

John was looking between Dean and the bartender. He looked at Dean. "What's your name, son?" he asked, his tone still friendly and he hadn't yet drawn his firearm.

Dean didn't break character at all. "Jon Moxley," he muttered, his eyes sliding between John and the bartender. "I wasn't there," he protested again. Suddenly Dean's expression changed and Seth thought that Dean looked almost nervous.

"Maybe you were, and maybe you weren't. But this man seems to think you know Randy Orton. Let's sit down here and talk about this," John suggested, still friendly-like, reaching out to take Dean by an arm.

Looking like he was about to be sick, Dean swayed and damned near fell over. John grabbed at his arm to help him stay up. For the first time, Seth got the impression that Dean was no longer acting.

"What seems to be the problem?" a voice asked and Seth turned around, his blood running cold.

Sheriff Wade Barrett was standing there with that shit-eating grin on his face. The deputies Justin Gabriel, Heath Slater and David Otunga were behind him was smirking as well. And Seth suddenly knew why Dean was looking like he was going to vomit his guts out.

"This man was with Orton," the bartender said, before John could say anything. Then the bartender saw who it was and tried to fade into the background. He didn't want to attract the attention of the sheriff again if he could possibly avoid it.

Wade's eyes lit up. "Oh really?" he murmured, walking closer and putting a hand on his gun. He shouldered John out of the way and grabbed Dean by the chin to look into his eyes. "You're not Orton," he sneered, then he looked speculative. "Are you another one of the Saint's men?"

"No…" Dean said, still feigning confusion. His eyes shifted desperately around, but there was no help in sight, and he would not risk Seth.

"What are you talking about Barrett?" John asked. He too was looking like he was about to keel over and Seth realized that the demons' proximity was affecting both Dean and John.

"Let's go downtown to the jail, where we can 'talk'," Wade said, and the deputy pulled his gun and stepped up to grab Dean's arm, the gun pressed firmly into Dean's side. Barrett looked over at John, his smile was pure predatory. "You too, Marshal Cena. We will need your presence as well."

As if in a daze, John followed the group down the street, clearly not happy but unable to resist.

And Seth could only watch in horror as the Nexus dragged one of his best friends away.

TBC

_John's quote is from Hamlet._

_Sorry this took longer to get out. I have not, nor will I abandon it. But real life must come first._

_I have been mulling over boosting the rating for the next few chapters because all our boys are in for a very rough time, both physically and psychologically. I hope you all aren't afraid of a spot of torture. _

_Thanks for reading! ~Belle_


	6. Chapter 6

**Legend Killer 6**

_Warning: __Torture__, violence, and swearing._

_Nexus:_

_Barrett = Sheriff_

_Otunga, Slater and Gabriel = Deputies_

_Banker = Michael McGillicutty_

_Aide to the Mayor = Husky Harris_

_Michael Tarver_

_Darren Young_

_Skip Sheffield_

The Nexus and Dean were barely out of sight and Seth's only thought was to find Roman. He figured Roman had to be nearby, that they wouldn't leave Dean alone with so many Nexus around. He scanned the immediate area but didn't see his friend. He had no idea where Randy's hideout was, so going to Orton for help was a no-go. Aside from wandering the streets hoping to get lucky, Seth didn't know what else productive to do. He started walking quickly up the street, pushing past pedestrians and ignoring their indignant looks and comments, scanning for a black horse or a familiar face with long black hair. He didn't see either.

Distant thunder rumbled. The air was completely still. Seth ducked down the adjacent street, repeating the process. No Roman.

Next street.

Nothing.

Next street.

Nothing.

The longer Nexus had Dean, the greater the chance of Dean's being hurt badly or killed. As the precious minutes ticked by, he was almost so frantic he nearly missed Roman's horse standing hitched to a rail near the bank, swishing its tail at flies. Seth hurried over and untied it. It gave him a puzzled look as only a horse can but Seth ignored it at he swung up into the saddle. He figured if he couldn't find Roman, then at least he could bring the black horse to the jail and hope Roman came looking for it. He was just turning the horse in the direction of the jail when someone grabbed the bridle and the horse jerked to a stop, nearly spilling Seth over its neck. Seth clutched the saddle trying to regain his balance.

"What the hell, Seth?" Roman asked. He was dressed in new clothes and his hair tied back. A new hat was pulled down over his eyes.

"Nexus has Dean," Seth said, his voice low as he slid down off the horse. "They think he knows where Orton is."

Roman's eyes widened. "Shit," he said. "Where did they take him?"

"The jail," Seth answered. "There were four of them, including Barrett."

That was more than Roman could take on at once and he knew it. "Mark, if you're around I need to talk to you," he said to the air around them. Suddenly he felt the Saint's presence. He turned to the spirit and instructed, "Nexus has Dean. They think he knows where Orton is and there are more of them than I can handle. Tell Orton we need him here now!"

The Saint's face was as expressive as granite as he disappeared.

Seth, despite not quite being used to Roman talking to thin air, breathed a sigh of relief. Randy's presence was vital if they were to rescue Dean in time.

They started walking up the street toward the jail, Roman leading the horse. The streets were getting a bit emptier as people hurried about their business and glancing up at the sky. The white fluffy tops of the clouds were showing their iron gray bottoms as they finally came into sight over the mountains. Lightning flashed.

They were nearing the jail when the Saint reappeared beside Seth. _'Orton's on his way. He says he is going to create a diversion so wait for his signal.' _

"Tell him to hurry," Roman replied.

'_Not your personal messenger service, kid,'_ the Saint grumbled as he disappeared again.

"How long do you think it will take?" Seth asked. He had snagged Dean's horse on the way by and was leading it by the reins. After seeing their determined strides and set looks, people were ducking out of the duo's way.

Roman shook his head. "No idea," he said. "Orton's a ways away and he'll need some time to get the distraction going. We'll have to be patient and hope that Dean can hold out." He was worried, though. Dean was tough but if the Nexus decided that Dean was withholding information about Randy's whereabouts, they would stop at nothing to get it. In any case, Dean was in deep trouble. _Hang in there, Dean. We're coming,_ he thought as he exchanged worried glances with Seth.

"I'm going to go in there and try to stall," Seth announced as they neared the jail. He shoved Dean's horse's reins at Roman who refused to take them.

"No!" Roman said. Seeing Seth's stubborn look, Roman said sternly, "Those are demons in there, Seth. They are sadistic and wouldn't hesitate to kill or turn you solely for their amusement. I know Dean is in danger but we can't afford to lose you either."

Knowing Roman was right, but hating not being able do anything, Seth settled beside Roman and did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life: waiting helplessly while his friend was probably being tortured.

Inside the jail, Sheriff Barrett had ordered his three deputies take Dean to a back room. The only light in the room was from a single high barred window. They had stripped him of his weapons and tied his wrists above his head securely with a rope that had been tossed over a crossbeam holding up the ceiling. They took the other end of the rope and fashioned a noose, placing it over Dean's head and snugging it up around his neck.

"What are you doing?" John demanded. "You can't do that. He isn't a prisoner; you haven't even formally arrested him."

Barrett glanced over at John. "He may know the whereabouts of a wanted murderer. We need to question him."

"Not like this!" John insisted. He clenched his fists at the blatant disregard for due process.

"But this way is more fun," Slater said.

Giving Slater an incredulous look, John's eyes widened when Wade walked up to him. "Cena, you will do exactly as I say," he ordered. "You will keep your mouth shut and stand over there," he indicated a place by the far wall. "You will not interfere, do you understand?"

Stunned, John found himself unable to resist. He watched, furious, as the three deputies and the Sheriff surrounded the prisoner like wolves, but he was unable to form any sort of protest. The lack of control over his body was horrifying and he found himself shaking at the effort it took to move even slightly.

Barrett waited until Slater and Otunga to finish securing Dean. Stepping forward, he looked into Dean's eyes, that malicious smile never leaving his face.

Outside thunder rumbled again, low and menacing.

If hanging from a rope fastened to the ceiling surrounded by the Nexus worried him, Dean's expression didn't show it. Despite the gravity of his situation he looked confident, almost cocky. He gave Barrett a mocking smile. He knew that John had meant well but following due process meant nothing to the Nexus. He figured that he would have to stall to give Roman and Seth time. He had seen Seth's face as Nexus was dragging him away and knew his friends were going to rescue him.

"What's your name, boy?" Barrett asked as he walked slowly around Dean.

Dean wasn't intimidated. He waited without moving until Barrett stopped in front of him again. "Jon Moxley," he answered. "Why am I here? Like the Marshal over there said, I didn't break the law." He hated the greasy feeling of the Nexus in close proximity. It was especially strong given their numbers. It made him twitch involuntarily.

Still studying Dean closely, Barrett said, "If you must know, we brought you here because we have a question."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. He shifted his weight back, exuding confidence. "Sheriff, if you've got a question to ask me...just ask."

Barrett's eyes narrowed, a little puzzled off by his prisoner's complete lack of fear but he plowed ahead anyway. "Do you know where Randy Orton is?"

"Nope," Dean answered immediately. Cocky bastard that he was, he didn't bother to try to be convincing and waited expectantly for what he knew was coming.

Without warning Barrett backhanded Dean hard across the face. Dean almost lost his balance and the insidious nature of the rope configuration became clear to John. If Dean tried to keep his balance by grabbing onto the rope as leverage, he would hang himself. And ff he tried to lower his arms, he would strangle. Dean's continued breathing depended solely on his being able to stand up with his arms raised above his head.

Shaking his head to clear it, Dean looked up at Barrett again, grinning mockingly despite the split lip. Irritated, Barrett sucker punched him, driving his fist deep into Dean's midsection and all the air out of his lungs. Dean fought the instinct to double over as the noose tightened around his neck.

"This one thinks he's tough, boys," Barrett observed as he stepped back. The deputies laughed and elbowed each other. "We're going to see how tough you really are," Barrett said, leaning towards Dean. Slater stepped forward and drew his knife. He started cutting away Dean's shirt, until it was in chunks by his feet. Barrett eyed the large red scar running down the length of Dean's forearm.

Dean knew this was going to get ugly, but his innate hatred for the Nexus was strong and helped sustain him. A strong presence suddenly filled his mind.

'_The others are on their way. Hang in there, boy,'_ the Saint's graveled voice whispered.

Hearing it phrased like that, Dean couldn't help but bark out a laugh. Feeling the Saint's presence was like a balm and Dean knew he could take anything these guys had to dish out. He grinned at Wade.

A flicker of surprise showed in Barrett's face. He drew back and regarded Dean for a few minutes. "Teach him some manners," he told Otunga, who took out a whip and positioned himself behind Dean. Wade turned to Dean, "One last time, boy. _Where is Orton_?"

"Fuck you," was Dean's answer. Not being alone made the interrogation a bit more bearable, but it would not make it any less painful.

Wade nodded at Otunga.

The whip came down across Dean's shoulders like a hot brand. For a second, Dean's muscles locked up in shock, and then the true pain hit and his breath hissed between his teeth as he ruthlessly fought the instinct to cry out. He forced himself to stand straight and stare directly at Wade. Otunga swung the whip again, cracking right across the middle of Dean's back.

"Are you going to tell us where Orton is, or do we need to continue?" Barrett asked with his face right up into Dean's.

Dean didn't answer, just smiled a deranged smile, and then spit directly in Wade's face. Wade backhanded Dean across the face again, whipping Dean's head to the side. Dean huffed out a breath, then started to chuckle. "Is that all you got?" he demanded.

"Where. Is. He? " Wade demanded, each word punctuated with a punch to Dean's guts. Barrett was infuriated that the beating wasn't having an effect on Dean.

Dean just shook his head; his chest and sides were slick with sweat. He could feel his ribs cracking with each blow.

Wade curled his lip into a snarl. "Again," he commanded. Otunga cracked the whip three more times in rapid succession. Livid bruising was standing out on Dean's back against the red welts. One welt started to bleed, bright red rivulets against Dean's pale skin.

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel, the practical one said, "We don't have time for this, Wade. Let's just make him one of us. Then we'd know everything he knew."

Studying Dean, Wade nodded slowly. "Fine." Barrett jerked his head at Slater, who left the room briefly, returning with a dark jug of liquid. "Hold him," Slater said to Gabriel who gripped Dean's face in his hands. Dean thrashed against the hands holding him still; but the rope around his neck was tightening as he struggled. They poured the stinking, burning liquid down Dean's throat, forcing him to swallow some despite his best efforts to spit it out. Feeling it burn down into his stomach, he started to panic, but the Saint was there. _'It won't make you one of them. I won't allow it.'_ said the Saint, reassuring. _'But it will probably make you sick. Be strong.'_

"Easy for you to say," Dean mumbled as he choked and coughed. The burning receded slightly but darkness was starting to float around the edges of his vision. Inhaling deeply, Dean shook his head, trying to clear it. "Want to know how I got that scar?" he asked, seemingly at random. Barrett glanced again at Dean's arm. "The demon-bitch Abigail did that," he drawled with a smirk, feverish eyes gleaming through his messy hair. "She tried to drain my blood and use me as a sacrifice…right before I shot her in the head with a Colt Walker."

There was a collective intake of breath as the room went still. "He's one of the Saint's men," Otunga said, eyes wide.

'_You really don't know when to shut your mouth, do you boy?'_ the Saint sighed; amused, annoyed, and exasperated all at once. _'Enjoy being in pain, do you?'_

"I thought so," Barrett said softly, his eyes triumphant. "Well, you're not Orton but you'll do as a warm up until we get him."

In the corner, John watched not understanding the conversation between Moxley and Barrett; and for the first time in his life was feeling hopelessly, helplessly out of his depth. He became aware of several more men entering the room. He had no idea who they were but Barrett seemed to know and welcome their presence. By the way they talked to each other John figured they all knew what was going on. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

"You know you're days are numbered, don't you Nexus? There'll be no going back to hell for you," Dean promised, his voice slurring a bit. Laughing, Barrett stroked Dean's swelling cheek.

"It's been tried it before. Orton himself couldn't kill us all."

"Are you sure that Orton is the only other one hunting you right now?" Dean asked. "How do you know there aren't more of us?"

"Oh I know," Barrett assured him. "The stars tell us."

Dean's eyes widened in recognition right before Slater raised his knife and slashed him across the ribs. Blood ran freely down his side, soaking the waist of his pants. Slater made a complete circuit around Dean, slicing at his chest, back and sides. "Pretty," he grinned.

Deputy Otunga raised the whip. The motion was stopped by a voice. "Stop," John said, sweating with strain against whatever was holding him still. "This isn't right!"

Stalking over to John, Gabriel studied him for a second, and then sucker punched him hard in the stomach. John doubled over under the force of the blow and he gasped for breath, but he didn't lose his balance. He straightened up and faced Justin head on, contempt on his face.

"Keep quiet, Cena," Justin said softly, "until we get to you."

"What about him?" Slater indicated to Cena with his bloody knife. "If Orton's around, we'll need as many of us as possible to put him down."

"You're right," Wade answered. "Cena should join us now. Imagine having a genuine US Marshal as a member of the Nexus," he mused, and then jerked his head at the new men. "Young, you and Sheffield get started on Cena. The rest of us will find out where Orton is."

The two men Barrett had named moved over to where Cena was standing. One of them, Sheffield, grinned. "I love to see humans' expressions when they realize too late what is really going on."

Wade turned back to Dean, who was fighting valiantly against the demon blood's effects, but losing. He could feel his legs getting numb. "Hey Nexus," Dean taunted as he drew a slow breath, trying to focus his eyes. "I'm going to kill you." He raised his head and glanced around at each present member of the Nexus. "All of you."

The look of hatred on Barrett's face was very satisfying to Dean, as was the Saint's chuckle in his mind. "So you're not going to cooperate. Fine, we are just getting started," Barrett said and kicked Dean's legs out from underneath him.

Outside, Roman and Seth were still waiting. Tense, they scanned the horizon. "C'mon, c'mon," Roman was muttering. "Dammit Orton, hurry the fuck up."

"Do you know what his signal is going to be?" Seth asked.

Roman shook his head, but then a wisp of smoke curling straight up in the still air caught his attention. As the seconds progressed, the smoke became thicker. Roman straightened up in understanding. "Plan B! That's got to be the signal," Roman said just as the Saint appeared.

'_Get in there kid,' _the Saint said. _'Orton set the bank on fire. After they leave, get Ambrose out of there.'_

Roman nodded to Seth, "It's the bank. Let's go," and they both hurried into the jail. Roman hung back when he saw the large number of Nexus standing in a hallway but Seth, not as affected by the demons' presence, headed right towards them. "Sheriff Barrett! The bank is on fire!" he shouted, sounding appropriately panicked. That brought Barrett out, his eyes wide and furious.

"God fucking dammit!" he screamed. Seth paused, affecting a startled, submissive posture. Barrett apparently decided that he was inconsequential and turned to the people inside the room, outside of Seth's line of vision. "Slater, Otunga and McGillicutty, you're with me. The rest of you, finish this up!" he ordered as the four of them left the jail at a run. In their haste, they didn't notice Roman standing in the shadows.

As soon as it was clear, Seth and Roman hurried to the room where the Nexus had been gathered. They stopped dead in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of Dean hanging from the rope, blood dripping from his back and sides, his face red as he slowly strangled to death. Two men stood next to him, obviously not happy at being interrupted by Seth and Roman.

"What the hell you lookin at?" one of them snapped. The other put a hand on his revolver.

"Get away from him," Roman snarled at the two Nexus members. He felt the Saint's presence come forward and the Colt Walker coalesce into existence. He knew then he was going to have to kill the Nexus members, leaving Seth to handle things until Orton got there. Fuck, he needed Randy to get his ass here, pronto. Reading his thoughts, the Saint said, _'Orton's on his way.'_

Darren Young glared at Roman. "Do you know who you're dealing with?" he growled, a knife held to Dean's side, whose face was turning purple.

"_Do you_?" Roman said, his voice a crawling, grinding sound. He drew the two Colts, pointing them on the demon collective in front of him. He saw the exact second realization hit, their subsequent panic and they reached for their guns.

With no alternative Roman fired. The thunder of the guns was hideously loud in the enclosed space, the echo screaming into nightmares. Both Darren Young and Skip Sheffield died immediately. And Roman, with two new holes punched through his soul, passed out. Seth was at Dean's side in a flash cutting him down. Dean drew a deep, whooping breath, eyes closed as he lay on the floor. Seth glanced over at John, who still stood frozen off to the side, his eyes wide as he stared at something behind Seth.

"Wow, he was just a fledgling," Michael Tarver observed from the doorway, prodding Roman's body with a foot. "He couldn't even fire those things twice before he went down." He looked at his dead companions with no remorse. "Sorry mates, but as you know, there are many more of us waiting to get up here to replace you."

Seth placed himself between Dean and Tarver, but Tarver ignored him. Instead he drew his weapon. "I know Wade would probably want to play with him for a bit, but honestly, the Saint's guys just need to die," he said as he pointed his gun at Roman.

"No!" shouted Seth drawing his gun, knowing he couldn't draw it fast enough.

An unearthly revolver thundered from the doorway. The man known as Tarver dropped dead, a surprised look on his face.

John felt whatever hold the Nexus had over him finally dissipate. His body, free from the poisonous influence collapsed on the floor. From his hands and knees, he looked up to see a tall man standing behind Tarver's corpse, holding a ridiculously big revolver in his hand. It looked exactly like one of the weapons that Seth's companion had wielded.

"Good timing," Seth greeted the man as if he knew him.

"_Rollins_," the man said in acknowledgement. His voice sounded like gravel and ghosts and cobwebs, and John involuntarily shuddered. The man holstered his gun and stepped over Tarver and into the room. He looked down at Dean, seeing the blood and bruises all over his torso and shook his head. "_Cocky brat_," he said. He glanced up at Seth and reached out and took Seth's chin, staring into his eyes for a few, long seconds.

John noted how Seth went passive under that stare, holding his hand carefully away from his revolver. Seth's eyes were wide though, like he was a little unsure of what the man was going to do or was maybe even a little bit wary of him. Then the newcomer nodded at Seth and turned him loose. Then he turned to John and easily hauled him to his feet by the front of his shirt. Now John found himself frozen in an ice-cold gaze, as if the man were searching for something in John's soul. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Seth motioning to let the man do whatever it was he was doing. Right before he released John, it looked like the man's eyes changed color but that might have been a trick of the light, which was rapidly dimming as the storm continued to roll in. Satisfied, the man seemed to lose interest in him and went to Ambrose who was still lying on the floor, now completely unconscious. Ignoring John and Seth, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Dean's bare bloody shoulders.

"You okay?" Seth asked John.

"I think so," John said, not entirely sure what was going on. He nodded to the stranger. "Are you going to introduce me to our rescuers?" John asked Seth as he fixed his shirt.

Grimacing, Seth glanced over at John's revolver which was still on his belt. The confident Nexus hadn't bothered to disarm him. Shifting slightly so he was between John and the newcomer, his hand near his own gun, Seth said, "US Marshal John Cena, meet Randy Orton."

TBC


End file.
